#writing to reblog for frank

[nostalgebraist]

This was a bot created by @nostalgebraist.

It operated from October 19, 2019 to May 31, 2023.

For general information about the bot, see this post.

[rainbowwyrm]

Introducing Marina: Your shining savior!

“Like a beacon of light amidst a dark storm, Marina del Phis is here to brighten your day! Hailing from the deepest depths of the ocean, her role is to provide peace and prosperity with the power of her magical pearl, which allows her to grant any wish no matter how big or small. Her enchanting voice also brings bliss to those hearing it, making her a worldwide pop sensation.”

Read the full description (and further information) here!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gixwNtEwwh0IkLgZ6Tv0N6Jdovd4WQpJwhjZR9ZM46Y/edit?usp=sharing

Reblogs are appreciated!

Extras:

[ufonaut]

They said you were in my head. But you're here. I knew it.

Junkyard Joe (2022) #2

(Geoff Johns, Gary Frank)

[febuwhump]

less than a month to go until febuwhump!

things that will be happening over this month: 

i will be reposting the updated rules and FAQ (both are identical to last year’s, both just need the new themed header)

the discord will open back up for new members! it’s of course available for use if you are already in it, but i will be sharing the link once again after going through and rewriting the room list because it hasn’t been accurate in a super long time

i’m probably going to end up answering a lot of asks whose answers are in the FAQ; please read the FAQ

i will begin a quiet and subtle campaign in the tags of these posts to convince specifically people writing for the fandoms i am in and currently care about to take part in febuwhump so i have content i want to read 

[clouds-of-wings]

Probably the biggest culture shock for me when I got into metal was that all the bands wrote their own songs. This was such a new phenomenon to me. When I was 11 and discovered a-ha, who became my favourite band right away (not difficult, because I hadn’t had one since I had ‘outgrown’ the Spice Girls at about the time I graduated elementary school), I was extremely proud of the fact that they wrote their songs themselves, because I saw it as an anomaly - and it kind of is in pop, especially with teen-oriented groups. Then I started to get into metal with HIM, Hammerfall, and Nightwish, and I was really pleasantly surprised that it was so normal there for bands to write their songs themselves.

I see the same pride I felt in a-ha back at age 11 in fans of Taylor Swift or BTS today - this feeling that you’re following an artist, not just some pretty face with a nice voice who gets mass-produced hits written for them, probably with a money-back guarantee by the writer to the record company. And I’m not knocking that pride in pop fans, just like I’m not writing this to make fun of my past self. It just proves that, despite all cultural cynicism about art-related "industries”, a sense of authenticity and self-expression matters to a lot of people. The fact that some people, newspapers and magazines even, see it as worth debating how much songwriting Taylor Swift really does proves that artistic intention is not just a tiny insignificant detail. The fact that people who are really into films, not just casual watchers, care more who directed a film than who starred in it points in the same direction. It’s not just about the immediate sensory experience.

And I just randomly thought about that in the shower today, but then I realized that it also relates to AI art and how I feel about it. One (much derided!) argument against AI art is that it’s ‘soulless’. Supposedly a silly, romantic thing to be bothered by. But I don’t agree. Why shouldn’t intention and ‘soul’ matter? I think it’s only natural, especially for people who connect more strongly with art, to care about this.

And sure, there are a lot of caveats. The matter of artistic intention is thorny. Ultimately the intentions of the artist are unknowable because art doesn’t communicate them perfectly. Fake meaning can be generated, artists can lie about what their intentions were - the marketing teams behind more money-intense artistic projects can do so even more efficiently - and I think viewers/listeners/readers by default read things into the content that the artist never intended. But I don’t think it’s silly to see it as a negative if you’re 100% sure that there’s absolutely nothing behind art, considering that we (or some of us at least) do care about the backstory of art when the artist is human. Human art gets criticized for being ‘soulless’ oftentimes too, sometimes unjustly, and it’s a pretty damning thing to say.

And perhaps the fact that we can’t be sure whether a human artist is being honest about their intentions is an aberration anyway that is brought about by mass society. For the first 95% of human history, nearly every artist whose work we encountered was someone we knew in person, and we would interpret their art as an expression of their personality and their relationship to the people around them, including us. It was supposed to mean something to us and to communicate something. Subcultures do an imperfect job of simulating this environment among people who don’t really know each other. If the archetypal art experience is painting the day’s hunt on a cave wall with your cousins, seeing a stranger’s art in a museum or on the internet is far from that. But there can still be meaning in it, and I think we should allow ourselves to care about that.

[starlit-mansion]

the main reasons i dislike and almost never reblog posts screaming at artists to draw fat characters is 1) i really don't think it does any work to fix the problem to call people cowards, it just gives you a brief high of saying something mildly justified but cruel to a general group of people on the internet and 2) while i'm not saying i catalogue each reblog that's just screaming at artists and meticulously compare the art that the person who reblogged it puts love on in their personal blogging, i do notice when people talk the talk but never walk the walk, and i don't much care for that. it's always a little harder but more rewarding to put a little bit of love on a single piece of art with the things you claim to want artists to work on that you had to dig and curate for than to slam reblog on a pithy mean statement that isn't showing you any images that offend your subconscious bias towards thinner bodies

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

psssstttt….

using frank’s big, heavy balls to rub your clit and him coming on your pussy from the sight of it then fucking his cum back inside

a/n: sliiightly changed the sluttiness, hope that's okay. i swear, i read it so closely, but i think it might have scrambled my horny brain too much because when i sat down to write it, it unfolded slightly differently (still very close, he just doesn't cum from the sight, he just came and then he starts the whole fantasy)

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“O-oh my g-god!” you trembled against the sheets as Frank’s weight lightened and he sat back to marvel at the masterpiece he had just painted on your pussy.

“Damn, sweetheart…” you heard him groan, giving his only half-softened girth a generous squeeze before swiping the bulbous head through his load that glistened on your fluttering pussy. Your frame twitched and jumped lightly at the overstimulation as he rubbed his cum further into your puffy petals. 

His movements soon became so broad that the entirety of his length slid through your folds, up over your sensitive clit and against the lower part of your stomach, smirking at how exceptionally deep he had been just moments before. But when you felt the weight of him against your lower belly, just before he scooped down to repeat the lavish pattern, so too did you feel a different heft rut against your buzzing pearl, a sensation that caused your hazy eyes to roll in your skull. 

Craning down to steal a sloppy peck from your lips, you moaned into his mouth as he purposely nuzzled his heavy sack against your clit. 

“You like that, huh?” he chuckled thickly at your reaction, his sturdy nose grazing against your own, “I thought you were done. I thought you said it was too much and that you just couldn’t take it anymore,” peeling himself off of you once more, he leaned back and tapped the weight of him against your collective mess, “and now you’re fucking purring like I didn’t just cum on your pretty pussy. What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he smiled down you and you felt his palm run up your shivering frame. 

Swiping his thumb across your core, he didn’t clean his cum off of you, but scooped it further down towards your entrance.

Spreading you wide with his digits, you felt the tip of him tease your quivering hole, “you want more, hm? You want me to fuck my cum deep inside of you? Is one load just not enough for my girl today? Because I can keep going, baby. I can keep going till you fucking pass out…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[javispunk]

Handsome

Summary: After spending the last 8 months with Joel and Ellie trying to survive every single day out in this post out-break chaotic world, you find yourself seeing Joel in a much different light.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Content/Warnings: Joel being a HUNK, 18+ smut (minors don’t interact!), masturbation (female and male), fingering, unprotected sex (p in v).

Notes: Please excuse any mistakes, as english is not my first language! If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

After arriving at Bill and Frank’s, as Joel had intended a few weeks ago, you all noticed the house was quiet, still. Joel called out both their names, but got no answer. Quickly he looked at the dining table, plates filled with rotting food still on top of it. He reached for a piece of paper left behind. A note. His eyes analysed it with care, hoping this wasn’t what he thought it to be. Both you and Ellie read the expression on his face, rapidly imagining that the worse had happened.

“So, what does it say?” Ellie pushed. She knew, but wanted confirmation.

Joel folded the piece of paper on his hand, and you could notice the defeat in his expression. “Girls, stay right here please.”

You nodded immediately. Ellie did the same. Of course he would go in first, that’s what he always did. Always looking out for Ellie’s protection. It was sweet. You watched him do this for the course of 8 months, without ever getting frustrated. You could tell he just wanted her to be safe.

With Joel already at the end of the main hall, you looked over at Ellie. “Let’s get on the front yard for a second, I need to get some fresh air.”

“We’ve been getting fresh air for the last few weeks, what do you mea-“ you cut her off.

“Please. Just keep me company.” You put your arm around her shoulder, half hugging her and guiding her outside.

“You two are the same, you know?” You heard her start. “You don’t always have to protect me that way. I can handle a lot.”

“Oh I know you can.” You paused. “Shit, you’re better than me at that. That’s why I’m asking you for company. I’m the one that needs it.”

She looked up at you with a small smile, realising your request. You both sat on the still neatly cut green grass, as you looked over the other side of the road. You noticed Ellie slightly plucking at the pieces of grass that had outgrown the care they’d receive in the past.

“This doesn’t bother you in the slightest?” You asked her.

“Well, it does. But I didn’t know them. I guess that helps.” You nodded back. “But I just wish Joe would let me explore more.”

You sighed. “He just doesn’t want you to find something you don’t have to see.”

“Then why are we both here?”

“Well, probably because he thinks we can’t handle something like that. I know I couldn’t.” You replied. Death was a hard topic for you, how ironic that sounded in the world you were in right now.

“I think he has you on a bigger clutch than me.”

“What? No he doesn’t. He just probably got the idea that I have a light stomach or something. You’re like his kid.” You insisted.

Ellie looked at you from the side with a slight smile. “And you’re like his girlfriend.”

You looked at her with raised highbrows, pure confusion on your expression. “Ellie, that’s not true.”

“Oh please, have you not noticed the way he looks at you sometimes?” She continued. Your face still equal to a question mark. “A few months back, at the museum, when you got stuck on the other side of the wrecked wall, out of his sight, he killed 7 clickers in less than a minute just to get over to you.”

“Ellie, I’m sure he just wanted to protect you the best he could.”

She interrupted you, just to continue proving her point. “Just the other day, at the bay, when you fell over in the water.”

“That was a huge fall, anyone would be concerned, Ellie.”

“No. You didn’t see the way he plunged himself into the water, the fear in his eyes. And you know how to swim!” She laughed.

Her laugh was contagious, so you ended up doing the same. “C’mon Ellie, quit that. It’s not true.”

“Honestly, a blind person could see it. The way he talks to you. He like-” the voice behind you both made her stop abruptly.

“Girls, there’s hot water upstairs.” You saw his figure at the door frame.

“What?” Ellie shouted excitedly. She got up from your side and ran upstairs quickly.

“Second door to your right at the top of the stairs! In and out, Ellie!” Joel made sure she got in the right room. You both heard her reply with a “alright” from the top of the stairs. You also noticed how Joel smiled when she ran past him. She was like his kid, truly. Joel didn’t do that to you, so you pushed Ellie’s words to the back of your mind. Just to prove that, you watched Joel’s expression change from a smile to a slightly more serious face when he noticed your eyes were on him. Your gaze connected for a couple seconds before you broke it.

“There’s another bathroom, you can go now. Second door to your left. I’ll try to look for the car’s battery so we can be on our way.” He offered.

You nodded after smiling his way. “You go. I’ll explore the village a bit, I just feel like walking for a bit. I’ll go after you.”

“You sure?” He insisted.

“I’m sure. I’ll meet you both at the garage.”

***

You haven’t felt hot water washing down your body in months. This shower felt like a miracle to you. You looked down as the water covered your face, seeing the water turn slightly brown at your feet. You tried to hurry, but you also tried to indulge in some time for yourself. When was the last time in 8 months where you could actually spend time completely alone. When was the last time you pleasured yourself? You couldn’t waste this opportunity. They’d both be down at the garage, and you’d have time.

You ran your hand down between your closed legs, still unsure if you should do it. But you thought the release would be good for you. When would be the next time an opportunity like this one would come? You finally indulged, passing your fingers through your slick folds, already wet from the arousal suddenly awoken in you. Your mind wandered off to Joel and the fact that he’d been in the same tub as you were now rubbing yourself. You imagined his naked figure, skin hot from the warm water falling off his body, washing the dirt from weeks before.

In an instant, as you kept your hand between your legs, rubbing soft circles on your bundle of nerves, your mind visualised him standing there, tall and naked, head pulled back as he took advantage of the shower head over him. Would he have also taken advantage of his alone time and pleasured himself? You weren’t made of steel, and you were sure Joel wasn’t as well. You indulged in the thought of him reaching for his hard cock with his hand, pumping it slightly at first. You tried to stop your thoughts, you didn’t want to objectify Joel like this, but you didn’t touch yourself in months, your core aching for some release. And Joel was all that popped up on your mind. You could almost hear his soft whimpers, his needy grunts as he would pump his length faster.

You didn’t even notice, but your fingers were now inside your pussy, eyes still shut, as the sounds of your wetness were muffled by the water running on the shower.

A moan escaped your mouth, as you imagined Joel looking at you, lying there, legs open for him to take you. Would he even like that? What would he even think about to get him off? Some porn magazine he’d find laying around somewhere? Could he get off thinking about you? Was that so strange? Would what Ellie said be true, that he actually might like you or crave you in some way? Your mind was out of sense, as you imagined him close to his edge, as your own also started to form in your stomach.

His breath hissing, his chest moving up and down. Your name slipping from his mouth. Even your head could trick you, but you were so close to your orgasm that you indulged. You curled your fingers inside your core rhythmically, and the knot in your stomach starting to tighten. As a wave of heat crept on you, so did your orgasm and Joel’s name sounded out of your lips, as you rode your high for a few seconds.

***

You ran down the stairs, still adjusting the jacket on your body. As soon as you got into the garage you saw Ellie inside the car, mesmerised by the mechanics of it. Joel out of sight, behind the lifted hood of the vehicle.

“What did I miss?” You questioned.

You heard Joel close the hood. “I don’t think we’ll have the battery ready today.” He rubbed his forehead lightly. “But let’s get in the car, let’s try it.”

Ellie already in the front seat, moved to the passenger’s side, as Joel asked her to. You opened the back door and got in, behind Ellie.

You observed Joel enter the driver’s seat. His hair was clean, still slightly damp from the shower, neatly combed to the back. His silver strands were somewhat less prominent now in some areas, in others more. His skin now clean from any dirt collected in the last few days, his scar on the high of his right cheekbone now more prominent. He was tan, his eyebrows still furrowed in worry. Your view of his profile was perfectly placed, his angular nose seeming more beautiful than it ever did.

He looked over at Ellie beside him. “Put your seatbelt on.” She looked at him confused. “Here.” He gestured to her right, grabbing it and buckling it for her.

“But we’re not even moving!” She protested.

“Just do it.” His worried gaze still plastered on his face. He quickly put on his too. You saw his gaze wonder from Ellie to the steering wheel, where he rested his hands, before finally looking at you through the rearview mirror. You saw his eyes soften, his eyebrows relax. “Are you okay back there?” He asked you.

You took a second to answer him, still caught up in him. You shook your head, humming a timid ‘yes’. God, you could only think about how handsome he was.

He nodded your way, before turning the key on the ignition. The car sounded in a roar, getting started.

“That’s good news.” You said from the back seat.

“It’s not fully charged.” Joel spoke. “Do you girls mind if we stay here tonight? We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Ellie nodded her head, just happy to be inside a car. You didn’t say a word, but Joel seemed to read your expression without you even noticing, as he spoke next.

“You guys can get going, eat something or rest. I just need to do something first.” He looked you in the eye as he said his last sentence. You quickly understood.

You looked back at him. The air was still inside the car, until Ellie opened the door and got out.

“I’ll go and try to make something to eat.” She said.

You watched her close the door. You opened yours and yelled. “Wait Ellie, I’ll help you.” After that your gaze flew on Joel, who was still clutching the steering wheel. “You don’t need help?”

He turned to you fully. “No, of course not.” His eyebrows closed in worry. “You don’t have to see any of that. But they deserve a proper burial.”

“Of course.”

“Just keep Ellie busy, please. I’ll be in and out through the back door. Please don’t let her see anything.”

You nodded rapidly. “Of course not!” You assured him.

“Thank you.” He spoke softly, before you left to enter the house.

***

It was surprising how Bill and Frank had a fully stoked kitchen, from the essentials, to meat, vegetables, fruits, everything. The air in the kitchen smelled wonderful, eventually spreading out to the next rooms. It was surprisingly easy to keep Ellie in the kitchen, she was probably just hungry, or maybe she understood everything and didn’t tell you.

After a few hours, dinner was ready and while Ellie checked on the oven, you made sure to set the table for three. She started serving her plate, running to the table on the dinning room you had cleaned before. You followed her action, still in the kitchen. Joel appeared on the door frame, you with a still empty plate in your hand.

“Hi.” You said softly. “Dinner’s ready.”

He replied to your greeting before continuing. “It smells great but I’m not very hungry.” He said while holding on to a cloth where he kept cleaning his hand slightly. “I’ll just have a shower. Again. And I’ll probably get to bed. Is that alright?”

“Of course.” You paused. “There’s clean clothes on the bathroom if you want them. I’m sure they fit you.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He looked at the floor for a second, before gesturing to the plate you had in your hand. “There’s three spare bedrooms, upstairs. You know, besides theirs down here. They’re all pretty much the same but I’ll take the smallest one.”

“Okay.” Your voice came out as a whisper.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You repeated, as you watched him turn his back afterwards, and head upstairs.

You filled your plate and joined Ellie in the dining room. You sighed as you sat down next to her.

“Is he okay?” She asked you.

You looked over at her. “I don’t think so. He will be tomorrow though. Just needs a good night rest.”

She understood everything. She was one of the smartest girls you’ve ever encountered. I don’t know why Joel tried to hide anything from her.

“He does that a lot, you know?” She spoke, her fork now down, resting on the plate, now almost empty.

“What?”

“Close himself off when something’s wrong.” She continued to play with her food. “He won’t talk to me about it. But he would with you. He probably thinks you’d handle it better.”

“I’ll stop by later. Make sure he’s okay.” You looked down at her freshly washed hair, running a hand over it. “Now eat and then choose a room upstairs. We have to gather energy for tomorrow.”

***

You tossed and turned on your bed, hoping the sleep would come creeping on you. It never did. You stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, deciding wether you’d let the sheets stay over your body, or check up on Joel. He was a grown man, but still grieving some old friends, you reminded yourself.

You knew he was on the room at the far end of the corridor, the smallest as he’d said. You carried yourself to the door, before knocking lightly on the dark wood material. The sound echoed slightly through the corridor. Joel took only a few seconds to open the door, emerging with only a t-shirt and some pyjama pants that hang slightly loose on his waist.

“Hey.” You said as you saw him. Hair dishevelled from probably lack of rest.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice low.

“Am I okay? Joel, are you okay?” You insisted.

He shrugged his shoulders slowly. “I’m okay.”

“Can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you and opened the door wider for you.

“How’s Ellie?”

“She’s well. Asleep I presume.”

“Some of us have to.” He slightly laughed at his comment.

He smelled good. The effect of two showers in the same day. You decided to tease him.

“So, taking advantage of that shower today, right?” You spoke.

His eyes shot at you, somewhat scared. “What do you mean?”

You looked at him confused. “Oh nothing, just because you used it two times today. For how long haven’t you had a double shower in the same day?” As you spoke the last words, you understood how insensible that came out. He took a second shower because he had to bury two of his friends, stupid. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s oka-”

“No it’s not. Shit, I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.” You insisted.

“Don’t say that.” He spoke softly, but his eyes were worried. His voice showed a sign of hurt somehow.

“But I am. I can’t even help you and now I say this.”

“I didn’t want your help. I know you don’t take death very well.” You paused your worried thinking, looking at him properly. “Just didn’t want you to go through that unnecessarily.”

You looked at him, giving him a slight smile. “How do you know that?”

He shook his head. “I hear you. Your conversations with Ellie as well.” He paused. “I also know you.”

Your heart began beating faster.

“I’m glad someone does.” You admitted, scoffing at the floor.

The two of you on your feet on opposite sides of the room, the distance between the both of you killing you, no matter how small the actual room was. The silence was not uncomfortable, but you decided to break it abruptly.

“You know, Ellie told me something today. I don’t think it’s true but I might as well ask you now.” You paused and his eyes looked at you intently. “She told me you liked me.” You kind of rushed your words. “I don’t know, she spoke about the incident at the bay and how you jumped right in the water. Or that day at the museum- I don’t know.” You sighed, closing your eyes and looking at him after. “Is it true?”

Your heart was pounding on your chest.

“I care about you. A lot.”

“But that’s it, right?” You asked. “You also care about Ellie, very much.”

He looked at you, one hand roaming free, scratching at his lower belly underneath his tshirt, just above the waistband of his pants. You could tell it was a gesture of frustration. You were ready for a rejection. “Not in the same way, no.”

You were not ready for the response he gave you. Your heart almost breaking your ribcage to get itself free from your body.

“In what way, then?” Your body language couldn’t fool anybody. You naturally, without even realising it, gravitated towards him, ever so slightly.

He did the same. “In the way that I would rather die, than to lose you for that goddamn decease.” His eyes stayed on your expression. He was getting closer to you. “But also in the way of making your safety a priority to me. Your happiness.”

“My happiness?” You mumbled under your breath, as he reached a hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Happiness, amusement, pleasure. Whatever you want me to. I’ll do it for you.”

Your bodies were glued to each other, Joel was just waiting for your approval.

“Good.” You said before jumping onto him, mouths connected, his arms rapidly catching the behind of your thighs, holding you in place. Your legs wrapped around his center. His hands felt huge on your legs, securing you. You had zero fear of falling, you knew he got you. His tongue asking permission to enter your mouth, which you gladly accepted. The sounds you both made were almost animalistic. 8 months of no physical contact whatsoever, left you hungry for each other.

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting you straddle his lap. You felt your core pulsing when you felt the bulge in his thin pyjama pants. They might as well not even be there. You looked down and could see the entire outline of his length.

Still supported by his hands, you reached over to the hem of your t-shirt and lifted it up, discarding it over your head, throwing it on the bedroom floor. Your breasts hung perfectly a little lower than his eye level. His mouth immediately attacking your right nipple, like he was hungry for you. You moaned, your head thrown back in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He looked up at you with awe in his eyes. “The woman you are.”

“Shit, Joel.” Your mouth hungry for his, hovering his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’ll make up for it, sweetheart.” He started kissing your neck. “Is that okay?”

“For fuck’s sake, just fuck me Joel.” You didn’t have sex in over 8 months. You couldn’t even be ashamed of asking for it like this.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” He grabbed your hair that hang low your back, caressing it from top to bottom.

“Please.”

“You don’t have to beg. You don’t ever have to beg with me.” His hand separated your legs further apart and travelled to your core, pulling your panties to the side, rubbing soft circles on your clit.

You moaned at his touch. “This feels so much better.”

“Much better than what?” He continued his efforts.

“Than me touching myself over the thought of you under that shower.”

“Oh, is that right?” His cocky smile under you, alternating his look between your face and your core, scared he might miss any of them. He slid two fingers inside you slowly but deeply. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Profanities rolling off your tongue like warm honey to his ears. “Do you like that, gorgeous?”

“Shit Joel, yes, yes.”

His fingers picked up their pace, shocks of heat from the top of your head to your feet. He lifted you up a bit so he could have a better angle to curl his fingers inside you.

“You’re so wet, baby.” His voice was low, dragging itself word after word. He took his fingers out of your cunt, only to suck on them as he looked up at you.

You looked down at him, immediately kissing him passionately. Applying pressure on his bulge with your core, you heard him moan underneath you.

You pushed him into the bed, him hitting his back on the centre of it. You got up, taking your panties off with urgency. You moved on to take his pants off, as he took his t-shirt at the same time. His boxers were restraining his length, it seemed almost painful. He noticed you looking over at it, removing them himself, as he sat up, his back on the headboard of the bed.

“How do you want me?” You asked him.

“Any way. I just wanna see your pretty face when you cum. C’m here” his voice sounded deliciously inviting. His cock painfully hard and propped in the air. He was huge, and you were not sure if he would even fit. But you wanted to try to so badly. You quickly straddled him hoping he would take it easy on you. And that’s exactly what he did. He wanted to please you so bad for the longest time possible, but just as you, he hadn’t shared physical touch with anyone in months. You were both famished for it.

You propped yourself on his entrance as he looked at you in awe. You were dripping on top of his head, as if his pre cum wasn’t enough to lube your insides already. You sat down on his cock, the girth like something you’ve never experienced before. The sounds your two sexes made in contact with each other were pornographic. Your moans also didn’t help your case. Joel put a hand over your mouth as you pushed yourself down his cock, all the way down.

“I wanna hear your moans so badly, sweet girl. But we shouldn’t make much noise.”

“Fuck, I know.” Your voice muffed by his hand, covering half of your face.

He removed it, just to help you get your rhythm up and down his cock. After a few seconds of him stretching you out, your walls became accustomed to him. Your fluids making it easy for him to glide in and out of you.

With a faster pace you began to grab at the back of his neck, as he kissed your breasts once again. “Fuck Joel, you feel so fucking good.”

He couldn’t even get the words out of his mouth for the first few seconds of thrusting. “You’re so fucking tight around me, baby.”

And in fact, you could feel every single pulsing vein inside you, with every thrust he gave you. You began to bounce on top of him, applying strength on your feet so you wouldn’t grow so tired as fast. You wanted this to last. It felt like you were made for each other, the way his cock fit inside you so right, the way his hands grabbed each of your hips with just the right amount of strength. The rhythm never slowed down, Joel made sure of it.

You began to feel the knot in your stomach tighten. “Joel…” you moaned.

“I know, sweet girl. You’re so close.” He paused to kiss you. “Use me to ride your high, c’mon.”

“Fuck, I’m so fucking close.” You continued.

“Let me hear my name out of that pretty fucking mouth.” He kept you bouncing on his length.

“Hum…” you paused as you closed your eyes. “Joel, shit. Joel, Joel…”

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Let me see your pretty face.”

Your mouth opened to an O, as the knot in your stomach released in an explosion. You let out a cry, but you rapidly muffled it with your own hand. He removed it immediately, just to kiss you while still riding your high. As you began to pant, trying to regain your strength, Joel grabbed your torso on his arm, in an embrace, and quickly but surprisingly softly, put you under him. Now on top, with his cock still inside you, he continued to thrust into you. You were so sensitive and he knew, but you wanted to let him have his orgasm. His breath became quicker with the urgency of his release.

“Fuck…” his thrusts became more sloppy as he reached his climax.

“Cum, Joel.” Your voice like music to his hears.

He kissed your mouth one last time before pulling out and cum on your belly. His warm release all over you, spilling onto the bed sheets.

“Fuck.” His voice lower than usual. His mouth travelled to your forehead, leaving a kiss there.

Both of you panting, Joel on top of you, pressure that would always be seeked from you. Once you caught your breath, you pulled the covers on top of you both, as Joel pushed you into his chest, your face nuzzled on his neck.

A few minutes of silence were much needed.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” You asked him, hope in your voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have let you out anyway.”

[chellestrash]

Let me handle it.

Frank Castle x F!Reader

summary: After a long day at work you FINALLY get home and Frank decides to offer some help with redirecting your frustrations. warnings: strong language, explicit language, explicit content, pet names, praises, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex. word count: 3.8k an: Hey heeey, me again...trying to get out of my writers block LIKE ALWAYS! I stg there isnt a fic on this blog that isn't my attempt to try and get back into writing but anyway. This was just something short and sweet I wanted to get out to hopefully get the gears moving again. Let me know what you think! I know the ending feels a bit rushed but I hope its alright. Reblogs and feedback appreciated as always! Hope you'll enjoy! OH and of course, thank you @chelseasdagger for helping with this one and im tagging @lucy-sky cause she requested that!

You push the front door open and sigh loudly at the sight of your apartment. The 8 hours of work felt particularly long today, and you swear at some points you weren't really sure if 5pm was actually going to come after all. The tiredness fills every inch of your body to the point that some parts actually, physically hurt as you get your coat and boots off before making your way over to the living room.

“There she is.”

Frank sits on the big couch in front of the TV, his ‘work’ clothes still on, so you assume it hasn’t been long since he got back as well. He looks better than you feel, though, one leg on the floor, the other propped up on the small coffee table. The TV remote is still in his hands, but you notice how he turns the screen off the second he notes your presence. 

Looking up at the sound of his voice, you do your best to smile in response, but the content expression fails to reach your eyes, and you turn your gaze back to the wooden floor before answering.

You mumble a quiet greeting under your nose and walk past the couch, past him and into the small now, thank god, dark bedroom. 

Frank frowns, turning his head as he watches you cross the living room and disappear behind the bedroom door. It’s not hard to pick up on the fact that something is clearly off. It’s not like you two cling to each other the second you step through the front door, but he knows something about the way you act today just doesn't feel how it should feel. He grunts, pushing himself up from his spot on the couch, and makes his way over to the bedroom.

Back in the small room, you attempt to get rid of your work clothes as fast as possible, longing for the simple yet unmatched comfort of one of Frank’s basic t shirts. You pick the one laying by the end of the bed, the one you knew he currently slept in, and softly pull the work shirt up and off over your head before ditching your bra too and tossing it off to the side. You can't be bothered to clean it up, not right now, probably not tonight. With the t shirt now on, you sit at the foot of the bed. 

A loud sigh exits your body as you attempt to take your pants off, but for some reason, the task proves harder than it would be on any other day. You fight with the fabric for another moment, frantically waving your legs back and forth with no avail before hiding your face in your hands, ready to dig the nails into your flesh with all the pent-up frustration of the week. 

“You need help with that?”

You drag your fingers down your face and turn to face him.

Frank stands in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest as he leans onto the door frame, and you hope he wasn't here long enough to witness your meltdown. 

“I don’t… know.”

You admit, the overwhelming frustration wins over the slight embarrassment of the previous moment. 

Frank nods before pushing himself away from the door frame. He walks over to the bed without a word, and before you can try to explain yourself, you watch him get down on one knee in front of you with a grunt.

“Alright.”

He mumbles softly, fully kneeling in front of you now. Holding your calf softly in one hand, he pulls the fabric of your pants down your leg before switching to the other one. You watch silently as he gets rid of the clothes for you before tossing them off to the side, to be dealt with at some point during the week. 

“That better?”

He asks softly, and you nod, your body relaxing at the sensation of his fingers brushing up and down the back of your calves softly. 

“Work?”

He asks carefully, feeling the need to figure out what was wrong, but not wanting you to have to think about it again.

Closing your eyes, you sigh softly and nod once more, confirming his previous suspicion. 

“Want me to go out there…make sure this shit is sorted?”

The question makes you chuckle, and you breathe out a quiet laugh as your eyes find his again. He never looked away from you. 

“You gonna go beat the shit out of my boss?”

You finally speak up, pushing your fingers through Frank’s short hair, feeling it prickle your skin slightly as you do so. The familiar feeling somehow grounds you in the moment as you feel more present than before. 

Frank scoffs at your words, looking off to the side for a second before turning back to face you. That god-damn cocky smile makes you smile back at him almost instantly. 

“That what you want?”

He moves his hands up, fingers now brushing over your thighs as he pushes forward slightly, you spread your legs open some more to fit his wide frame between them. 

“I mean if you’re offering.”

You joke, and he breathes out through his nose quickly, shaking his head with a semi playful smile.

“Yeah, okay, you got it, kid.”

He mumbles before leaning down to press a kiss onto your thigh. Closing your eyes, you let out a quiet hum, the wet warmth of his lips present on your skin for a long couple of seconds before he finally pulls away. 

“How ‘bout I make you feel good? Hmm? That sounds okay?”

His voice rumbles through your body as he moves closer to you and the bed, gently lifting your one leg up and over his shoulder before he does the same with the other one.

“Fuck.”

You start, already feeling how your body begins to react to him, the warmth between your legs slowly growing more prominent.

“You don't understand how much I’d love that right now, I just…”

He stops, stops immediately and waits to hear you out.

“I’m too fucking tired to move, Frankie.”

“Who says you gotta do anythin’?”

The way he answers makes it feel like the most obvious thing in the universe, like how he doesn't understand how you could've thought of it in any other way than him giving you all he can offer.

“Shit, you think I’m gonna make you ride it or something?”

He looks up at you from where he's kneeling by the bed, eyebrows pulled together in a frown, as if he genuinely can not believe you’d think that.

“Think I’m gonna make you get on your knees? Suck me off and tell you you’re doing a good job, hmm? That what you think?”

You laugh, shaking your head, knowing he would never make a situation like this about himself. Yeah, you two enjoyed it when things got rough during sex, and you enjoyed ordering Frank around just as much as he did with you, but you both also understood the timing and feeling of this situation. You knew not everything always worked the same, and so did Frank. “If you did, you’d get a fucking knee to your stomach, you got that?”

You state and Frank scoffs once again.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh before helping you slide your legs off his shoulder.

“Alright.”

He starts after pushing himself off the floor.

“Lay down, kid, show me how you want it.”

He gestures to the bed, and you give him a big, bright smile for the first time since getting home from work. Turning your back to him, you climb up to the top of the bed before dropping onto one of the big pillows. With a satisfied groan, you bury your face into the soft fabric and close your eyes for a second before pulling one of your legs up, bending it at the knee. The movement causes the fabric of Frank’s shirt to slowly slide down the slope of your back, exposing both your panties and your ass to the man standing at the foot of the bed.

“Yeah? Like that?"

He asks in that deep, groggy voice, and you nod, rubbing your cheek against the pillow without bothering to open your eyes as you do so.

“Alright.”

He mumbles, and you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his body after a moment. You listen to your body, to its needs and wants, and push your ass out slightly towards him with a quiet, innocent moan.

Frank scoffs loudly, shaking his head as he climbs over you, his arms propped up on either side of your body as he holds himself up above you. 

“Thought you were too tired to pull that shit.”

He points out in a teasing manner, and you crack one eye open slowly, the corner of your mouth pulling up into a playful smile.

“Oh no, I’m never too tired to be a pain in the ass to you.”

You mumble, somewhat to him, somewhat into the fabric of the pillow, before he breathes out a small laugh and leans down to press a kiss right on your shoulder. You watch as the muscles in his arm tense when he's pushing himself up again.

“Yeah, okay, you gonna let me do this or do you want to keep being an ass?”

You grin at the word and glance back at him, but he cuts you off before you manage to say anything.

“Don’t, do not fucking answer that.”

You laugh out loud, but the laughter quickly turns into a deep grunt when Frank pushes his hands against your ass. You feel his fingers digging into your body when he squeezes you tight, and you lift your hips up slightly, pushing into his touch. 

“Yeaaah, s’what I thought, you like that?”

You hum softly and hope it’s enough of an answer as the firm grip on your body disappears for a second, just to come back a moment later. 

“I got you now, kid, s okay."

He grumbles, pushing your legs apart some so he can sit in between them, right behind your ass. Pushing the hem of your shirt up, he gently brushes his fingers over your back. His hands make their way to the sides of your body, fingertips brushing up and down your ribs for a moment, and you let out a loud sigh.

“That’s it, good girl, again.”

You repeat the deep breath in and a calm exhale, allowing him to lead you through this, this one time. Dragging his hands lower and lower down your body, Frank works his fingers over your skin. The firm but gentle sensation of his touch spreads from your back and sides to your ass, then lower onto the back of your thighs and then calves when he reaches his arm behind his back. 

“Mmmm, Frankie”

Your hips push up once again when his thumbs dig into the spot right under your ass, and he breathes out a laugh. 

“Yeah, okay.”

You don’t have to explain it to him, he knows how to read your body. Slowly dragging his thumb over the fabric of your panties, he slips his four other fingers between your legs, cupping your pussy over your underwear. 

You whine quietly, your eyes still closed as he begins to draw small circles against your most sensitive spot, the tension in your body releasing into his touch. 

Humming quietly, you snuggle into the pillow, letting yourself fully relax now as the stress of the day leaves with your satisfied hum.

“Yeah? This what you like? Hmm?”

You push yourself back into his hand, leaning harder into his touch as an answer, and Frank tightens his hold onto you in response. The intensity of the sensation rises as he pushes his fingers harder against you. 

The tired, but honest smile on your face indicates how good of a job he’s doing. Well, that and the way the fabric of your underwear dampens more as the minutes pass by.

“Frank-“

You mumble out quietly, reaching your hand behind your back and hooking your fingers under the hem of your panties.

His touch disappears immediately as he pulls his hands away from your body, letting you dictate exactly what happens. 

He watches you fiddle with the fabric for a moment before you quickly tug it down your thighs and assists once it gets stuck behind your ass.

“Yeah that’s it sweetheart, show me what you want.”

You push your ass up slightly with an inpatient sigh once he slides the fabric down past your ankles and tosses it off to the side.

Once again, his big, warm hands find their way to your back, fingers pressing into your skin as he takes a moment to massage your muscles in your back, and then you feel him push the fabric up higher to tend to your shoulders as well. Feeling the bulge between his legs press into your ass the second he leans down to trace the back of your neck with his lips, you hum satisfied, eyes still closed, lips curled up into a smile. 

“Really, Frankie? That much?”

You tease, and he rolls his eyes at your words, shaking his head with a sly smirk still on. 

“Yeaaah yeah, shut up.”

He starts before leaning back down, his lips right by your ear this time. His hand pushes down between your legs, touching you directly now, and you know he can feel your body’s response to the whole thing.

“Really, kid? This much?” 

You huff out a laugh as a response and reach behind you to wrap your fingers around his wrist and keep his hand in place. 

“Not like it's my fault.”

You mumble quietly and hear Frank’s chuckle from behind you.

“Okay, calm down, just tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want to feel good.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Want me to make you feel good, baby?”

Another nod before you feel Frank’s hand push under your body and cup your chest firmly. His thumb brushes over your nipple as his lips brush down your spine, over your back. Feeling your body slow down, you allow yourself to relax properly as the warm, familiar feeling grows stronger between your legs. 

He pushes his hand right there again, touching you right where you long for it the most.

“Mhmmm.”

You hum quietly, as his three fingers push between your folds before he starts tracing circles around your clit. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling, your body finally relaxing after the exhausting day. Maybe in some other circumstances your mind would slip. If you were alone, if you tried to distract yourself on your own, your mind would wander, but not now. Not with Frank right there in the bed with you. He made it…difficult to focus on anything else, knew how to keep your mind occupied, how to prevent your thoughts from wandering where you didn't want them to go. 

His touch strengthens, and you feel your back arching slightly with a quiet moan slipping past your lips.

“Ah-fuck.”

You grunt the moment his fingers slip inside you. 

“Shh shh shh-”

Frank mumbles quietly, pushing them further in with ease thanks to your body’s intense reaction to his generous attempts to help.

“That okay?”

His low, groggy mumbling continues while he pushes his thumb against you, working on your clit as you feel yourself clenching around his thick fingers. Frank grunts loudly, watching your involuntary response to his question.

“Yeaah, s’what I thought.”

“Mmmmm-you’re pushing it.”

You whisper and he scoffs.

“Yeah? Shit, am I- hmm?”

He lowers the tone of his voice to match yours, leaning back down with his lips right by your ear yet again.

“Just tryna make you feel good, baby.”

He reassures you, watching your lips part as you feel the center of his palm push flat against your center, the wet sounds of your body filling the room slowly as he begins to slip his fingers in and out of your body once, twice, and again, again and again.

You hum loudly this time, biting into your lower lip before you angle your lower back up slightly in an attempt to chase the sensation every time he slips his fingers out almost completely. 

“Frank-”

You start, but he cuts you off, pressing his thumb harder against your clit. 

“Mmm, Frank-”

You repeat yourself with a loud moan before your muscles tense up, and you use the built-up force to push your ass back into him when you feel him slip his three fingers out of your pussy again.

“Ah- Fuck!”

He groans at the unexpected feeling, panting loudly when your ass pushes against the bulge in his pants, and you feel his tight grip on your thighs once you push into him again.

“Shit- okay, okay-”

He does his best to focus once again, and you breathe out a laugh, entertained by the slight shift in the dynamic.

“You okay there, Castle?”

You purr, glancing back to watch the way his eyes focus on your ass, feeling his hips buck up into you slightly. 

“Shit-”

Letting go of your thigh, he reaches up, quickly grabbing one of the pillows lying by your head before lifting your hips up a couple inches above the mattress and sliding it right under your body to help with the angle.

“Good?”

He asks, glancing up at you, the big, brown eyes fixed on yours as he awaits your answer for a moment before you nod quickly. 

“Couldn't have done it better myself.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he drags his hand down your back, stopping right above your ass.

“Yeah no shit-”

You roll your eyes at his words and rest your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes one more time. The sound of the metal buckle of his belt travels through your entire body, and you feel a slight tingling sensation between your legs. Pushing them apart softly, you earn yourself another

“Oh, fuck-”

From Frank, as he now gets to properly see the fruit of his labor. You lay in front of him, naked from the waist down, your legs spread open, your pussy wet from how he touched you before. 

“God damn it, kid-.”

He whispers quietly under his breath. 

“You know how perfect you look? Hmm?”

He asks, working his hand under the waistband of his boxers to pull himself out. 

“I ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice.”

You tease, answering the question without opening your eyes, arching your back slightly to make sure he gets a good view. 

“Ffff-”

You glance back this time, the wet sounds convincing you the view would be worth it, and it is. You watch for a moment as he works his hand over the length of his cock, his lips parted as he pants loudly with every other stroke, his fingers wrapped tightly around his length.

Gradually slowing down the movement, Frank holds onto the base of his cock, lining himself up with your exposed center. You hum softly, and your hips rise off of the mattress the moment you feel the head of his cock between your legs.

“Mhmm, just like that.”

You whisper to encourage him, with a slight note of impatience in the tone of your voice. 

“Yeah? So..s that what you want me to do?”

“Frank.”

You warn him, knowing exactly where this is going.

“What if I just-”

He continues.

“Frank, don't you f-”

He cuts you off, pushing his cock in between your folds and your whole body jerks forward at the sudden, unexpected sensation accompanied by a loud moan that slips past your lips.

“Fr- fuck!”

You swear, gripping the bed sheets before pushing your ass back against his cock, feeling it rub over your center, between your folds and nudging at your sensitive clit. 

Frank laughs loudly, louder than he should in your opinion, considering this was his–and his only–fault. 

“Shiiit kid, didn't mean to get you this bad.”

He attempts to calm your body, his big hand resting on your lower back as he continues to slide his cock in between your folds, teasing your entrance and clit with every single one of your now sped up breaths. 

“Frank, this- isn't helping.”

You whine out, listening to your body, desperate to feel him inside now.

“Give- shit, give me a second here, kid, this-”

He pants louder now, his other hand on your ass, spreading you open for a better view. 

“I swear to god if you come before I get to feel you, I’m sleeping alone.”

He scoffs loudly, hanging his head low as he stops touching himself. 

“That a threat?”

He questions your intentions with that sly smirk on his face, and you prop your chest up slightly.

“Wanna find out?”

You glance back, eyebrow raised.

“Nah, won't risk it.”

He states quietly, his chest rising and falling quickly, his cock hard between your legs. 

“You scared of me, Castle?”

You mumble the question out as you lay back down on the big pillow, feeling the head of his cock right at your entrance now. 

“Yeah, actually, how did you know?”

“Luck guess.”

“Yeah?”

He continues the conversation, pushing his cock inside you slowly. You let your lips part, fall open as you feel him deeper and deeper inside you. You can feel the way it stretches you open, a familiar feeling you got used to since being with Frank. 

“That good? Hmm?”

He asks quietly, leaning slowly over your body as he thrusts into you.

“Mhmmm.”

You hum out a confirmation as the movements continue, you feel your body rocking back and forth with his body, with the bed. 

“Good, wouldn't wanna be on your bad side.”

The thrusts grow stronger as he reaches up to hold onto the headboard, grunting loudly as you clench around him. 

With his cock buried deep inside you, you manage another response.

“Keep doing what you're doing, and you'll be safe.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The trusting continues for a while after, as he tries to do his best to keep it together long enough for you to feel satisfied. His other hand wraps around your throat at some point, and he lifts your head up slightly. Your breathing speeds up, and you pant loudly through your parted lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the climax.

"Attagirl, you feel it?"

He asked, no cockiness in his voice this time. It's an honest question, he sounded almost concerned.

"Mhm."

Your quiet hum has to work as an answer for now as you grip the bed sheets tighter, feeling his cock nude the underside of your stomach from within you.

"God damn it, kid-"

He mumbles into your shoulder, lips brushing over your skin when he feels your walls clenching around him harder now.

"Frank-"

"Shh shh shh, I got it."

He reassures you, resting your head back onto the mattress before reaching down between your legs.

"You just relax, kid, let me do this for you."

[sunflowersandsapphires]

The Art of Persistence

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a long day, you return home to the comfort of your two favorite boys.

warnings: swearing, brief misogyny, Frank being adorable

a/n: For the lovely @zomtart who wanted to see something with Frank and a dog! As always, reblogs and comments fuel my writing!

w/c: 2.1k

“The art of love is largely the art of persistence.” Albert Ellis

Walking through the doors into the bakery, your heart sank. It was going to be a long day, you could smell it on the air. The humidity seeping through the cracks in the doors had made the atmosphere purgatorial. You could feel the heat clouding around you, the air laden with moisture only made stickier by the ovens inside. Blowing a frustrated breath out of your nose, you gave a pleasant nod to your manager as she slunk past you towards her office.

“Good morning to you too,” You muttered, stalking into the back to set down your bag.

You were rapidly approaching your breaking point. Each inhale flooded your senses with the aroma of toasted sesame and melted butter--the combination turning sour after a week of beligerent customers and stressful shifts. If you didn't need the money, you'd have called out. Unfortunately, those precious wages and tips were keeping you afloat right now.

Tossing a thin canvas string over your neck, you secured the flashy red apron around your waist with a tight knot, not minding the line of pain that encircled you as you yanked at the ends. Pinning your worn name tag to your chest, you spun on your heel and headed for the counter.

Today was a new day. It would be busy, Mondays always were, but that didn't mean it would be bad. Right..?

Lamentably, by the time the morning rush had ended and you were finally able to slip into the break room for a moment away from the chaos, you were confident today would be the same as every other day. In a period of three hours, it had all gone to shit. Two of your coworkers had called out, throwing you and the one other reliable employee to the wolves. One particularly aggressive customer had thrown a cup of scalding coffee at you—claiming it was burnt after the tiniest sip you’d ever seen. And, the cherry on top of the crappy day you were having, you'd burnt the shit out of your hand pulling a bagel out of the toaster for a family that wouldn't stop nagging you. Fuck your well-being, they had places to go.

The circulation to your legs was slowly being cut off by the tourniquet you'd accidentally tied your waist in, but you couldn't be bothered to fix it. Staring wearily at your bandaged hand your body trembled with fatigue, discomfort, and residual adrenaline. Pulling out your phone, you positioned it in your good hand, selecting the proper contact and crossing your fingers.

Please pick up, please pick up, please—

“Hey doll, did you need somethin'?” Frank's gruff voice crackled over the line, relief crashing over you as it did. Your body sagged at the question, the idea that you weren't handling it all alone.

“Um, yah, I was wondering if you could take Wes out for me? A handful of people didn't come in so I'm stuck working a shift and a half.” You nibbled at the skin on your bottom lip, hoping Frank wouldn't be annoyed that you asked him to care for your dog again this week.

You'd gotten Wesley as a puppy about a year ago, after a friend found him and his siblings abandoned in a nearby park. He was the last to be adopted, but you just couldn't deny his sweet little face. Unsurprisingly, the pair of you got along swimmingly.

The only problem arose at times like these, when your manager demanded that you stay past your scheduled end time to fulfill someone else's obligations. Wes was a good boy, but he could only hold out for so long without needing to pee or expend some energy. When you weren't there to play fetch or run around the block, you often turned to your partner for help.

You knew Frank adored your rambunctious pup, but the thought of adding more to his plate for any reason always made you guilty. He was busy, he had his own life and job and shit to do. Wes was your responsibility. Frank hadn't signed up for this, nor was he being compensated for his time. You really needed to hire a dog walker or something, that just wasn't an option given your slim budget right now.

“Not a problem, sweetheart. I’ll head to your place when I can. You know when you'll be home?” As always, Frank accepted the burden immediately, without so much as an irritated sigh. His readiness to care for you and your four-legged roommate never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Around 6, if I'm lucky. I know that's late—” You rubbed at the back of your neck, grimacing as your fingers were met with warm, clammy skin.

“Don't worry about that, doll, you ain't the reason for that.” Frank reasoned, his patience only fueling the flames of guilt swirling around you.

“I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who could be at fault.” You laughed bitterly, swallowing the despair coating your tongue.

“No, you aren't.” Frank protested firmly. “Ain't your fault your boss wants you to stay, babydoll. You're just doin' whatcha can to stay employed. No shame in that.”

Your eyes fell closed as you let out a breath you hadn't meant to hold. Frank's response was tender, effortlessly caring, as if he was there rubbing your back and calming you down. Soothing your doubts with every syllable. He understood the pressure you were under and he never blamed you for it.

“Thank you.” You whispered, the longing you felt to be with him only intensifying as he comforted you from a distance.

“No need to thank me, honey. Just get home safe, yah?” The concerned edge that perpetually lined Frank's words tipped the corners of your lips into a smile.

“Ok.” You promised, bidding him goodbye.

The rest of your day slogged along like a fish attempting to swim through jello. Slow, awkward, and unbelievably messy. Each interaction corroded your dwindling social battery, wearing your patience thin. It took every fiber of your being to not scream right back at the customers as they demanded ridiculous things from you.

Oh your espresso isn’t coming fast enough? Why don’t you come around the counter and make it your damn self. 

Rolling your eyes at the annoyed tone of the customer begging for the drink, you pretended not to hear him as you steamed milk for another order. 

“Geez bitch, are you deaf?” 

You barely registered his muttered comment, but it struck you like a blade anyway. Fist clenching around his cup, your fingernails punctured the cheap, waxy paper, splattering the freshly brewed espresso over your work station. 

“Oh no!! I’m so sorry sir, I’ll make you a new one.” Shooting the fuming man your best try at an innocent, I’m-simply-so-ditsy smile, you tossed the ruined cup into a nearby trash can gracefully. With growing satisfaction, you took your sweet time restarting the beverage, hoping the asshole would burn his tongue the second you handed it over. 

Shoving the tiny cup across the counter, you cemented your beaming smile in place as the dude snatched it from your grip without a word. 

“You’re welcome, asshole.” You muttered as he slammed the door on his way out. A glance to the clock quickly lifted your spirits. 

Ten minutes. Ten minutes and the shift from hell would be over. You’d collect your tips and bolt before your supervisor asked for something else. 

Behind you, your next problem cleared their throat. Whipping around to face the uptight, blazer-clad woman, you raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?” 

Fumbling with the keys on your ring, your fingers hadn’t even lined the correct one up with the lock when the bolt thunked, the door sliding open. Standing on the other side of the frame, taking up most of your frame of vision with his broad stature, was Frank.

Tumbling into him, you groaned happily as his giant arms engulfed you, his stomach shaking with a brief laugh.

“Missed you too, sweetheart. We both did.” Pulling back slightly, Frank jerked his head to the wiggling golden retriever who was barely containing his excitement a few paces away.

Squeezing through the door past your hulking boyfriend, you knelt before your ecstatic canine, opening your arms for him to clamber into. Hugging your dog as he wriggled and chirped happily wasn't easy, but it made your heart swell with adoration every time you tried.

The way your dog reacted when you came home from work was nothing less than an ego boost. Poor Wes could never seem to keep still, too overwhelmed with joy and love that his tail swished wildly, shaking his whole body. Once you were within kissing distance, Wesley was determined to slobber all over you, reminding you just how much he'd missed you while you were away. These moments made all the hardship worth it.

Crouching behind you, Frank's hand slid beneath your raised elbow to scratch at Wesley's back, crowding in until you were fully leaning against him. You exhaled, sinking into his chest as he tugged you impossibly closer. Trailing kisses down the side of your face towards your shoulder, Frank rumbled with a chuckle as your dog plopped over the pile of legs, rolling belly up with an open-mouthed smile.

“Try as I might, I don't think I'll ever be the favorite.” Frank remarked, giving Wes a firm rub on his stomach.

“Well, I do feed him.” You snorted, scratching at your dog's ear. “Seems to be the key to both of your hearts.”

“Got that right,” Frank agreed, squeezing you tightly until you giggled. “Did your shift go ok?”

Puffing out a breath, you shrugged, turning your head so he could see your face. “Only got called a bitch once so, I'd say that's a win.”

Scoffing indignantly, Frank scowled. “Gimme a name, sweetheart.”

“Frank,” You groaned, not unhappily. “If I let the Punisher loose on every asshole that came through the shop, we'd have a massacre on your hands.”

“I'd do it anyway. They deserve it, treatin' service workers like that.” Frank grumbled, nuzzling your cheek.

Your hand slid up to the base of his scalp, twisting the edges of his hair in your fingers. “I appreciate it, handsome. But I'm ok, promise.”

“Did ya make good tips at least?” His question was genuine, his expression almost hopeful, but you barked a laugh anyways.

“Take a guess.” Your voice was bitter, thinking of all the ungrateful patrons you'd had in the last twelve hours.

“Hmm,” Frank pondered. “Twenty?”

“Fuck Frankie, I wish.” You rolled your eyes. “Two bucks.”

“You're shittin' me.”

“Unfortunately, my dear, I am telling the god's honest truth.” You laughed humorlessly.

“Two bucks. Fuckin' hell.” Frank scrubbed a hand over his face, clenching his jaw as his anger roiled deep within. “I'm so sorry, doll.”

“Me too, Frankie.” You pouted, feelings of inadequacy mingling with the fear of being utterly stuck in this dead-end job. “I hate asking you to help with Wes every damn day. You deserve better.”

“Hey now, don't you go worryin your pretty little head about me,” Frank scolded gently. “You're the one who don't deserve to be treated this way.”

“Don't have much of a choice, do I?” You wondered aloud, shoulders curling in as you descended back into hopelessness. “I need this job.”

“Then you'll stick with it for now,” Frank proposed. “And I'll help ya find somethin' better in the meantime.”

“You don't have to do that Frank,” You objected, letting him slip out from under you and offer you a hand up.

“I know I don't have to, darlin'. I want to.” Kissing your lips tenderly, Frank cupped your cheek as heat rushed to your face.

“Thank you.” You murmured, chest tightening with emotion.

“Anytime, gorgeous.” Frank winked at you, bringing a smile back to your face.

A piercing squeak caught your attention, drawing it towards the floor where an impatient Wesley displayed a plush toy you didn't recognize.

“Did you buy him a toy?” You asked Frank, knowing grin creeping over your face as the man blushed bright pink, shrugging one shoulder. Bending down, you tugged at the arm of the wooly sheep, pretending that you were grabbing it for yourself until Wesley ran off, squeaking it victoriously.

“Needed somethin' to do and he seemed bored, so we took a walk to the pet store on 45th.” The embarrassed man mumbled, rubbing at his nape and averting his gaze.

“Aw, Frankie,” Winding your arms back around Frank's tree trunk waist, you peppered kisses across his face. ”That's so sweet of you.“

“It's nothin', really,” Frank stated matter-of-factly.

“Sure, tough guy. It's nothin',” You smirked, clenching your arms one final time before gripping his hand. “Come sit, we can order dinner and play with Wes.”

Planting a firm kiss against your hairline, your scalp tickled as Frank smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @vsplanet @pigeonmama

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Xia Meng:

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

[highvern]

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.

[toxicanonymity]

Left in Lincoln - Master List (ongoing)

softdark dads' best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader

mood board by gracieispunk

series masterlist here, a reblog won't stay updated.

official playlist 🍑 bonus playlist by readers PREMISE: After you were orphaned by the outbreak, Bill and Frank raised you, sheltered in their closed community. Now 21+, you're still inexperienced. They leave to get treatment for Frank and ask Joel to look in on you while they're gone. The town begins to creep you out, but Joel is glad to provide comfort, protection, and education. WARNINGS: I8+ Big, girthy age gap. Joel is very dark and toxic but acts sweet with reader. Angst. Loss of virginity. Manipulation. Slow-burn horror: no gore, no violence toward reader, but this story has given people nightmares. NO USE OF Y/N.

Floorplan

PLEASE STOP PUTTING THIS FIC INTO AI. It's been made into chat bots at least 3x since August and they all sucked. It hurts my writing and gives me a mental block. Do not copy, translate, re-upload, use AI on, or make bots of any of my work.

Part 1 - This Protector (3k) - He lowered his voice and said, "Feelin' this against you, knowin' it's there." His hips lifted gently, and it swelled harder against you. "It's s'posed to feel good. Nothin' to be ashamed of"

Part 2 - The Dirty Ground (5k) - “Ever had an orgasm, darlin'?” He slowed his hips to talk. . . . “Only in my sleep," you said.” Good, that’s your body takin’ care of you. It’s good for you. . .Gonna take this belt off, k?”

Part 3 - The Cold, Cold Night (7k) - He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back then murmured, "Nap really all ya want?" "Just wanna be with you," you answered quietly.  His deep voice became nearly a whisper. "Love hearin' that, baby."

Part 4 - Apple Blossom (7.5k) - “Gonna take time ‘fore you’re ready for this,” he said with a roll of his hips. . . You asked, “You want it too, don’t you?” “Course I do, baby,” he panted. “Gotta feel good for both of us, though. Gotta do it right.”

Part 5 - Black Math (8.6k) - “God, if you only knew . . .” There wasn't even a hint of shame in his voice. “We’re almost there, I promise.” He tucked in his shirt and adjusted himself while he was at it. “God damn,” he exhaled.  “Turns me on, thinkin’ about it.” 

Part 6 - As Ugly as He Seems (8.4k) - You would've given anything for Joel to wake up and ravage you. “s’what I mean, baby,” he murmured sleepily into your hair. "Can't trust myself." He groaned softly as his palm brought you tighter against him.  You began to reach behind you, but he intercepted your hand. . .

Part 7 - Forever for her (10k) - [loss of virginity] You looked at his clothes and didn't say anything, but he replied to your silent question with a smile and hushed voice. "no, I don't have to be so dressed..."

I would love to write a part 8 but I've been through a lot in this fandom that people don't see because I don't address it publicly. I don't have an ETA or guarantee, so please don't ask.

-----

Art, etc.

HOT fan art by @bonezone44

Ch 1 mood board by @neverwheremoonchild

Ch 1-6 mood board by gracieispunk

Collage by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Chapter-specific posters

Hot ominous edit by swagxgarfunkle tiktok

Haunting edit by @iamasaddie

If yours is missing PLEASE let me know I probably tagged improperly & couldn't find.

[megamindsecretlair]

Ok but imagine Franklin asking Uncle Jerome for sex advice because he's trying to impress this woman he's interested in. And Jerome tells him how to get her excited, how to touch her, how to make her cum, etc.

And later, Jerome can hear her moaning and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall and he's proud. 🤣

Got Me Daydreamin'

Pairing: Virgin!Franklin Saint x Virgin!Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, fluff, smut. PIV, oral (fem receiving), fingering (female receiving). College Franklin, established friendship. Drug use, alcohol use.

Summary: See Ask. Sharing the same math class, you and Franklin were constantly getting into trouble for laughing and talking so much. You developed a system, passing notes through your notebook. One day, you ask Franklin for a favor and he is only too happy to oblige.

Word Count: 5,831k

AO3 Link

A/N: WHEW. Been sitting on that one for a while trying to figure out where I wanted to go with it. This ended up being so damn sweet. I remember getting a bunch of asks for Franklin in like...one night, lmfaoooo. Might be from the same person, who knows. I love you for it. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged ask.

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @logansblackgf @slippinninque @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii @kaaliyahsierra @pinkpantheris @blackelysian @sugrcookiiee @hihellogoodbyebruh @softimgyu @neawarren @harmshake @iv0rysoap @ciaqui @amethyst09 @00aijia00 @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @chaos-4baby @tvchi @avoidthings @twocentuar @sageispunk @missdforever @abeautifulmindexposed @blowmymbackout

“Do I need to separate you two?” Mrs. Thorne asked. 

Franklin looked up from talking to you and smiled sweetly at the old crone. “No, ma’am,” he said. 

You smiled next to him, he could feel it from where he sat. Like rays from the sun warming up the whole classroom. It was a wonder that no one else could feel it. Sense it. You tend to make everything seem brighter, more colorful, or overall just better in general. 

Franklin was crushing bad. Which still caught his breath sometimes when he thought of it. At first, you were just another girl in his math class. Beautiful. But clearly way out of his league. 

The more you sat beside him, smelling like buttery cake, the more you warmed up and started talking to him. Laughing with him. Hell, you were so damn funny and quick. Your smile was fast, genuine, and you were smart as hell. But his favorite feature on you after your smile had to be your ass. 

And you didn’t make it any better wearing those shorts of yours. The shorts stopped mid thigh, but it drove him insane. Waking his dick up every time you entered the room. There were times when he was as hard as a brick and had to stall, looking for an excuse to remain sitting while everyone else got up.

“There’s plenty of time outside of class to talk. In my classroom, you pay attention. Understood?” Mrs. Thorne asked. She peered over her cat-style glasses, lips pursed in irritation.

“Won’t happen again, Mrs. Thorne,” you said, just as sweetly.

Mrs. Thorne hummed and turned back to the chalkboard, wielding it like a weapon as she stabbed at the board, writing out an equation. 

Franklin looked over to you and you had a mischievous grin on your face. You reached into your backpack, pulled out a clean notebook, and started writing in it. Franklin was too busy watching you, wondering what you were up to, to notice whatever the hell Mrs. Thorne was on about today.

After another minute, you slid the notebook over to him. He read your pretty handwriting, momentarily distracted by the slope of your letters. He reread the message and tried not to grin. 

You: This way is much better. Birdy won’t suspect a thing.

Franklin wrote out his own message back, sliding it to you when finished. 

Franklin: You are a genius.

And so it began. You and Franklin tossed this notebook back and forth in class for weeks. Telling jokes, talking about everything under the sun. Franklin looked forward to math class. Dreamt of it. Even while awake. He couldn’t get you out of his mind, uplifting his spirits and made doing his homework actually pleasant. Because he knew that your smart ass would look over it with that adorable smile on your face. The way your nose pinched when you found a well placed error.

He liked when you chided him, sucking your teeth, and telling him that you knew he could do better. For now, you hadn’t caught on that he just liked you explaining things to him. At this point, you were his favorite show, book, and place to be all rolled into one. 

During the next class, you sat beside him with a weird look on your face. You were biting your lip and refused to look at him. 

“What’s wrong?” Franklin asked, settling into his seat as well and pulling out his math textbook. Students filed into the room as well, talking about their weekend plans and exchanging pager numbers. 

You looked around at everyone and shook your head. “What are your plans for the weekend?” You asked and smiled.

He knew you had something on your mind and wished that he could sit and truly talk to you. He wasn’t sure if you’d accept an invite from him to go grab coffee or speak for longer than five minutes before class and a few minutes after. 

Franklin shrugged his shoulders. “Probably hang with Leon or Kevin, see what they up to,” Franklin said.

You nodded and smiled. Franklin waited for you to say what you really wanted to say. His heart rate increased, imagining what it could be. Were you going to ask him something important? Like meeting up outside of class? Were you going to suggest studying together? Did you catch him finally, onto his game of intentionally giving the wrong answer? Not knowing was killing him and he wanted to ask.

He also didn’t want to come off as too intense. He had a tendency to take everything seriously, like a dog with a bone that wouldn’t quit. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin this friendship that sprung up between the two of you. 

Class started, Franklin’s mind drifted as he paid attention to everything you did. The tap of your blue pen against your paper. The way you bit your nail. Fiddled with your gold hoop earrings. 

Midway through class, you slid the notebook you shared over to Franklin. You kept your eyes faced forward, odd for you. Franklin grabbed the notebook, opening it when the old bird turned to the chalkboard, chalk dust on the back of her sweater.

His eyes glazed over as he read your message but he did his best to keep his features calm. He rubbed the tips of his fingers however, leg itching to bounce. He needed an outward release, something to release the pent up anxiety in his veins. 

You: Have you ever had sex?

Shit. The hell was he supposed to say? Franklin was a virgin but men didn’t fess up to things like that. He told Kevin and Leon that he lost it back in high school, some random girl he met at the mall. They bought it, pumping his head up, and fessed up to their own hook ups. For sure, they all knew they were full of shit, but what else were they to do? 

Franklin swallowed around the huge lump in his throat. The pulsing beat of his heart in his neck as he wrote back to you.

Franklin: Of course, why?

He slid the notebook to you. You looked at his message for a second before you began writing. When done, Franklin took the notebook. 

You: I haven’t. Wanna hang Saturday and fix that? 

Franklin’s dick twitched. This couldn’t be real. Thank god he was sitting down, because that twitch was turning into a full blown erection, causing his jeans to stretch tight. He licked his lips, trying to think of anything boring. Nothing worked.

With that one sentence, you brought to the surface every filthy, nasty, disgusting thing he’d thought about doing to you. He’s had vivid fantasies of you bouncing on his dick, riding him, arching your back, and the way you’d look when he’d slide in. He’s thought about how you would sound, screaming his name. He’s fucked his hand often enough, picturing it sliding into you. He’s wanted your nails on his back, your toes curling because of him. 

Franklin: Can’t wait to show you a good time.

When you received the notebook and read his message, you sighed, finally turning those honeyed brown eyes towards him. You smiled wide, doing a little dance in your seat. Franklin tore off a piece of paper and wrote down Uncle Jerome’s house. No way was he bringing you to his mom’s house. The last thing he needed was his mom coming in, causing a ruckus, or making you feel uncomfortable.

There were too many emotions running through him. He was elated and scared and confused and excited. He needed to figure out what to do. He’d never done this before. He wanted your first time to be special and wonderful. Would you know if he was terrible?

Now, questions multiplied through his mind. Was his dick big enough? Would you like the way he stroked? How would he be able to tell if you came or not? Fuck. He was unsure, panicking, while you went on in the notebook, being extra adorable as you admitted you were nervous but confessed to liking him for some time. 

He was distracted, still not over the thought of getting to see you naked. Getting to see you beneath him. He wrote back that he liked you too, liked how smart and sweet you were. He’d never get over the way you smiled at him now. Letting your feelings play out all over your pretty face.

After class, his dick calmed down to not be an issue when he stood up. You patted his hand and smiled at him, promising that you couldn’t wait until Saturday came around. Shit, him neither.

For the next few days, Franklin did all the research he could. He had a few porn mags but what did that really tell him about fucking? He went to the porn store, looking for videos to research. He watched with the volume turned low in his dorm, watching what to do.

He bought a pack of condoms, practicing putting it on so that he wouldn’t seem like a loser in front of you. He’d never survive if you laughed at him for something like that. The thought of it sent him into a fit of hyperventilating. He needed more help. He needed an expert. 

Friday night rolled around and Franklin arrived at his uncle’s house. He walked up a few steps, the area quiet for once. There was still the background hood noises, cars passing, faint music, helicopters circling. But it was a still night. Franklin knocked on the screen door. 

There was the sound of heavy footsteps and then Jerome’s face came into view. “Nephew!” He exclaimed, a cloud of weed smoke erupting through the screen door. Franklin waved it and smiled.

“Hey, Unc,” he said.

Jerome opened the door wearing a white tank top and black sweatpants. His jheri curl was well intact, shaking with movement as Jerome opened the door. Franklin walked past, inside, where music played and there was an ashtray in the living room. The TV was on to something Franklin couldn’t see.

“Where’s Louie?” Franklin asked, turning around. 

Jerome waved his hand. “She down visiting her sister. Said she was getting tired of seeing my face,” Jerome laughed, like he was remembering a private joke. 

“Good. I got a favor to ask,” Franklin said. 

Jerome laughed, leaning over the couch to get rid of his ashes. “Sounds serious, nephew,” he said. He grabbed the ashtray and his beer from the table and waved Franklin into the dining room. The wood table was large, covered in scattered papers, mail, or random water bottles.

Jerome had the side wooden door open, letting in a subtle breeze through the screen door. Jerome sat down with his ashtray and beer, still chuckling.

“Sort of,” Franklin said. He rubbed his hands on his khaki colored jeans, palms slick with sweat. This was so damn embarrassing. However, he didn’t have any other choice. Who knew where his father was? And if he was around, he wouldn’t ask that mu’fucker a damn thing. 

Franklin sat down and blew air out of his mouth, looking down at the table like it held all of the answers. “I need your help, there’s this girl…”

Jerome laughed and smacked the table. “I know that’s right, nephew,” he said and chuckled, taking a deep hit from the joint. He blew out the smoke and the room grew cloudy. 

Franklin told his uncle all about you. How you two started talking, how you’ve bonded the past few weeks. How much he thought about you and wanted to make you his. Jerome’s grin grew wider the more Franklin spoke, his eyes getting big from all of the pride pouring out. 

When Franklin finished, he rubbed his head. “I done did everything I can think of. But what if it’s not enough?” Franklin asked. Before, he hadn’t thought it would be this serious for him. When he found a girl that he wanted to have sex with, he thought he’d warm up to the idea. That he’d have a girlfriend and went on a few dates first. That he’d get to make out, touching and feeling first before diving in. 

“If this her first time, you ain’t gotta worry about all that. She ain’t got shit to compare it to,” Jerome said and chuckled. 

“Unc,” Franklin started. 

Jerome smiled. “Alright. How much do you like this girl? Like…you want to keep her or this a one-time thing?” Jerome asked.

“What you mean?” Franklin asked.

“There’s a lot of ways to have sex, nephew. It all depends on what you wanna do with this girl. If you just lookin’ to get your dick wet, best not to blow her mind too much. You don’t want her blowing up your pager or callin’ yo momma house looking for you.” 

“That can happen?” Franklin asked. He didn’t think there was nuance to sex. He’s had sex education. At the end of the day, wasn’t it just dick in vagina until both sides climaxed? What else was there? 

Jerome nodded, taking another pull of his joint and following it up with a swig of beer. “I once had this girl addicted to my dick. Had her ass screaming outside my momma’s house, threatening to throw herself into traffic unless I came outside,” he said. He howled with laughter, staring off to the side as he presumably re-lived that memory. 

“What happened?” Franklin asked. He couldn’t imagine you doing something like that, no matter what he did during sex. Did sex really change people like that? 

“Cissy told her to do it,” Jerome said and laughed. At Franklin’s expression, Jerome continued laughing and began choking. He coughed and hacked, putting the joint into the ashtray. “The girl was never going to do it. She was just dramatic. Point is, you can have this girl calling you daddy while you tear it up, or you can show her a good time and let her know that you’re the best she’ll probably ever have.” 

There wasn’t even a question. “I want her to be mine,” he said. His voice never sounded more sure, more arrogant even. If this went well, he hoped that you’d want to continue doing it. To continue talking to him outside of class. To spend months, years with him. To call you by his last name. He wanted that more than he wanted anything else. 

Jerome nodded, picking up his joint. “Are you sure? ‘Cause once you have an attack plan, you can’t be mad at the results,” Jerome said.

Franklin nodded and folded his hands on the table. He looked Jerome in the eye. “Tell me,” he said. 

“Alright, now there’s this thing they have called the clit…” Jerome began. He broke it down. Telling Franklin exactly what he needed to do to have you believing that he was an expert. A professional. The type of loving that was going to make you look at him differently. 

Franklin craved that. Needed that. He took in Jerome’s wealth of knowledge like a sponge, treating it like the most important class he’d ever take. Jerome reiterated things he’d seen in porn, but he went more in depth about it. Telling Franklin why certain things were done and what effect they’d have on you. Franklin couldn’t believe his ears. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?

Afterward, Franklin thanked Jerome. “And about using your house…?” Franklin asked.

“I’ll get lost tomorrow, nephew. I got you. Clean the sheets when you done. I don’t need Louie thinkin’ it was me,” he said. 

“Thanks, Unc.” 

Franklin went back to his dorm with thoughts of you on his mind. He was tempted to relieve himself of the ache in his groin as he went to sleep. But he wanted to perform well for you. So he left himself alone and hoped he didn’t cream his pants at his latest wet dream.

Saturday rolled around and Franklin arrived at Jerome’s house too early. He made sure the place was clean and smelled nice, made sure the spare room was free of clothes and trash. He took a shower when he was done, and made sure his teeth were brushed. He couldn’t relax the whole day, checking and rechecking that everything was perfect for you.

Sharply at six, you knocked on the door. Franklin got the record playing working, sweet crooning filling the living room. He went to the door and opened it. 

He grinned at your sunshine yellow dress, ties at your shoulders in neat little bows. You smiled shyly at him, coming further inside. He closed and locked the door behind you. “You look beautiful,” he said.

You smiled and grabbed the hem, pulling it away from your thick thighs. “Is it weird I obsessed over what to wear?” You asked. 

“Only if it was weird for me too,” he said. 

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t want you think I’m fast or anything,” you said.

Franklin shook his head, gesturing for you to take  seat. “I’ll never think that. If you don’t want to anymore, you don’t have to. We can watch TV or go grab some food,” he said.

“No! I want to! I…can’t think of anything else,” you said and smiled. You sat down on the couch and Franklin sat next to you, giving you a healthy amount of space in case you needed it. 

“Good,” Franklin said and smiled. He scooted closer and took your hand. “Tell me about your day.”

You laughed. “You don’t want to…?” You asked.

“Let’s get comfortable first,” he said. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. He heard the tiny gasp you made, which came back out in a cute sigh. Your shoulders dropped from your ears as you relaxed and began telling him about your day.

How you woke up too early, too sick to eat something. He loved how open you were about what you wanted. That you weren’t ashamed to share these things with him. He knew you were a blunt person, saying what you mean and meaning what you say. Still, it was so rare that people did so that his mind wandered, just enjoying the cadence of your voice. 

When you were finished, you were much more relaxed, talking and laughing with him. He moved from stroking your hand to stroking your exposed shoulder. The both of you sat further back on the couch, scooting closer the more you talked. 

Franklin’s face got closer to you, leaning in as you continued talking. Your eyes darted from his mouth to his eyes and he felt his heart lurch. It was working. He kinda liked seducing you. It allowed him to catalog every inch of you. Your reactions. He was able to tell that you were interested without even saying a word. 

He reached up with his hand, cupping your jaw and bringing your face closer to his. His dick throbbed in his jeans and nothing even happened yet. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

You gasped and then grinned, biting your lip. “Okay,” you giggled.

Franklin smiled but took his time, looking into your eyes for as long as he could before he closed them at the last second. He brushed his lips softly against yours, not fully kissing you yet. He waited for a beat, waited for that tiny inhale, before he pressed his lips more firmly. He kissed slowly at first, building up speed as you got into it. 

His breaths mingled with yours, your breath fanning across his face, and you gripped onto his shirt, pulling him closer. He went willingly, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. He held you in place and focused only on kissing you. Making out with you. You still smelled like buttery cake fresh out of the oven. He was obsessed. 

He pulled back to give you some air. You gasped, chest falling up and down. Franklin kissed your cheek, jaw, and neck, getting closer to the source of the smell. Was it perfume or lotion? Or body wash? Whatever it was, he wanted to buy you a crate of it. He never wanted to smell anything else on you.

He licked over your vein and you gasped, fist tightening against his shirt. He brought his hands down, grabbing and squeezing your thighs. You moaned, sweet music to his ears, and he squeezed some more. 

“Want to go lay down?” He asked.

You nodded, staring into his eyes. Jerome was right, you would look at him differently. He wondered if you’d look at him in a new way once he got going, once the clothes came off. He stood up, holding out his hand to you. You smiled, took his hand, and let him pull you up.

He walked around the couch, heading into the small hallway and then into the spare bedroom. He kept it open a crack so that you could hear the music still chiming from the living room. 

You sat down on his bed and he sat beside you, returning to kissing you. He placed his hand to your throat, turning your head to the side so that he could go back to smelling your scent and licking your neck. He knew better than to leave a hickey, but fuck, he wanted to. He wanted to mark you. He wanted you to be his already.

“Take off this dress for me,” he whispered against your neck. 

You sighed, reaching behind you to grab the zipper. He watched as you did so, impressed with how easily you did so in this position. You stood up and let the dress fall from your shoulders. You didn’t wear a bra underneath, but you did have on cute yellow panties to match your dress. 

Franklin hummed in satisfaction and grinned at you. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he remarked.

You rolled your eyes and bit your lip. “Really?” You asked.

Franklin grabbed both of your hands and pulled you to stand between his legs. “I swear. You’re gorgeous,” he said.

He stood up and turned you around so that your back legs hit the bed and he faced forward. He took a condom out of his pocket, tossing it onto the bed. He removed his shirt and his jeans, smirking at you and your reaction as you stared down his body. He stepped out of his jeans, leaving his boxers on and then stepped forward.

“Lay down on your back.” You blinked at him once and then grinned, climbing onto the bed. Watching your ass shake and jiggle as you faced away from him was too much. Too tempting. His dick throbbed painfully, a tent forming in his boxers. He sang something mundane in his mind, anything to stave off the need to cant his hips, humping the air. 

You flipped over onto your back, settling down and looking at him. He grinned and knelt on the bed, pushing and adjusting you until he had you where he wanted. He grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and placed it under your head. He grabbed the second pillow and placed it under your hips. You sighed as the pressure was taken off of your back. 

He grabbed your panties, pulling them off of your hips. He cooed as he got a little look at your pussy. You had hair and he could see it glisten in the low lighting. He licked his lips. Fuck, you smelled even better down here. A scent wholly unique to you. 

“Open them legs up,” he said.

You stared at him questioningly as you followed his command. “What are you…?” You asked.

Franklin grinned as he leaned forward onto his elbows. He watched the emotions play out on your face, the adorable pout in your lips, as you stared at him in confusion. He leaned between your legs and softly blew air across your exposed pussy.

You sighed, moving your hips. Franklin grinned. He teased your slit with his nose, trying to commit all of this to memory. If this was to be his last time between your legs, he wanted the memory to sustain him for years. 

He grabbed your thighs and held them open, as he rolled his tongue out and licked up your slit. “Oh shit!” You yelled. 

He chuckled, not expecting you to have a filthy mouth. He only found it more wonderful that he got to experience new things with you. Find new things you did every single day. He knew he sounded like a love-sick fool, but you were already so important to him. 

Franklin did the same thing to your pussy that he did while making out. He started slowly at first, trying to locate your clit like he truly was an expert. When you twitched and cursed, that’s when he knew he found the right spot. He swirled his tongue in circles, sucking on your clit and eliciting so many sounds from you. 

You clutched onto his head, pulling him closer while also trying to push him away. He was relentless, not giving you any slack to escape. He kept your thighs trapped, no matter how hard you pushed to trap his head between your thighs.

You grew wetter, juices spilling down his chin. He lapped all of it up. He couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted. He licked and licked, suckled, and slurped up your juices. Your moans were turning choppy. 

The tone of your moans changed, went into a panic mode. “Wait, I don’t think–what is–oh fuck, right there, right there. Don’t stop,” you screamed before you tensed up, thighs pushing against his hands.

You screamed loud, hips bucking, as you came on his tongue. He was wrong. This. This was his favorite. Tasting you as you came. Feeling your clit throb against his tongue. He’d happily drown between your legs. If he could eat you out every day he would. He would pay for the privilege to sit between your thighs and bring you pleasure over and over again. 

Franklin came up for air long enough to see your dazed face as you looked up to the ceiling. He chuckled as he returned to your pussy. You groaned and pushed at his head, but he continued. He moved his hand from your thigh to your pussy, getting his fingers instantly soaked in your essence. 

He pushed one finger inside and you bucked against him. “Oh, baby, gentle? Please. I know, I know you’re a pro but please,” you moaned. 

Franklin smiled, flicking his tongue against your clit. He moved his whole head, moaning into your pussy. His dick was about to explode in his shorts, he ground into the bed. He needed friction in the worst way. But he was determined to hold out. Determined for you to cum at least one more time. 

“I got you, baby,” he moaned. 

He pushed his finger in and out, mimicking fucking you. Your inner walls began to relax, allowing his finger to keep pumping. He eased a second finger in. You groaned, low and deep, as your hands fisted the blue sheets beneath you. 

He could study your reactions for the rest of his life and never get enough. You were so expressive. So pliant beneath his fingers. Shit, if sex was like this, he understood his Uncle’s stories now. He understood now why he and Louie sometimes looked at each other like they wanted to go at it right there, regardless of who was around. 

“Oh shit, oh shit. This–ah, so, s’good,” you cried out. Franklin smiled, pleased with himself. Though if you didn’t cum soon, he was worried that he might. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you. 

Franklin tried to remember all of the tricks Jerome told him about. Tried to remember that there was something else he could do besides suck on your clit. What was it? 

Your pussy clenched around his fingers and then it came to him. He flipped his wrist, curling his fingers in a come hither motion. You exploded once more on his tongue, juices spilling out of you and coated his chin. He moaned, lost in the taste of you. The way your thigh shook against his head. He ground into the bed again, moaning into your pussy.

When you came down, Franklin pulled away from you. There was a long spit chain connecting you two. You had trouble looking at him. But fuck. You were so beautiful like this. Heaving heavy sighs and moans, twitching every so often like you were cooked. He wished he had a polaroid camera so he could capture you like this. 

Franklin kissed up your body, taking time to lick on your nipples. You squirmed under him, tiny moans escaping your lips. He looked up to see the tortured bliss on your face. Your lips parted, moaning getting a little louder. 

Franklin licked up your essence that transferred from his chin to your nipple. “Still with me?” He asked.

Two tiny dips of your chin. “Oh god, that was…” 

Franklin chuckled. He climbed up your body, lining himself up between your legs. You groaned when he spread your legs wider. Groaned again when he pushed his knees up, so that your legs hung on the outside of his thighs. 

“I ain’t done with you yet,” he growled in your ear.

“Shit,” you moaned. You chuckled, panting for breath, and then looked back at him. “Damn.”

Franklin smiled, leaning down to kiss you. He couldn’t resist how cute you were. He leaned up on his knees, hunted through the sheets to locate the condom he tossed. He opened the package, pushed down his boxers, and rolled it on exactly as he saw in the videos he watched. 

He looked at you, at how wide you looked at his dick. He smiled. “I’ll fit, don’t worry,” he said.

“You can’t read my mind!” You said and giggled. He chuckled, settling back between your thighs. 

“We’ll go slow, okay?” He asked.

You nodded, bringing your hands to rub at his shoulders. He leaned on his hands, bringing one to his dick so that he could push into you.

He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Fuck. Just the tip and he wanted to slam home. He would never do anything to hurt you though, so he took his time. You squeezed his arm, nails digging in, as he slid in inch by solid inch. 

He watched your face. Your mouth tightened in pain, but your eyes were staring up at the ceiling. You had an adorable crease in your forehead as you concentrated. Once he couldn’t move anymore, he stopped so that you could adjust to his size. You squeezed his dick periodically, melting against the feeling of him being inside.

“Okay?” He asked.

You nodded and licked your lips. “I’m okay. Kinda hurts but you can keep going,” you said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded. “I’m sure.” You smiled at him and brought your lips to his, giving him a smacking kiss. He smiled and continued to kiss you, pulling out and then slowly sliding back in. He repeated this as many times as you needed, before you were crying for him to go faster.

He pushed his hips faster, pushing in and out of you and listening to your cries. Your moans. He paid attention to when you dug your nails in and when you let go. When you dug your nails in, he kept hitting that same spot.

Your eyes flew open, staring at him like he stole something from you. You rocked with the force of his hips.

“Franklin! Franklin!” You moaned.

Shit. Could he make you cum once more before he shot his load? He wanted to cum so badly. His balls were heavy and slapped against your entrance. The wet smack of your pussy was driving him insane. His dick throbbed as you squeezed around him, teeth chattering from all the moaning you were doing. 

“Don’t stop Ohhh, baby, don’t stop!” You yelled out.

Little did either of you know, Jerome had to swoop by the house for something. He wasn’t sure if you or Franklin were done or not, but hell, it was his goddamn house. He crept inside though, feeling like an asshole for sneaking around his own spot.

Once inside, he figured there was no use for sneaking. Between his nasty record playing, the headboard banging, and your moaning, Franklin was a good student. Jerome retrieved his extra stash of cash in his room, listening to the way you were moaning out Franklin’s name.

Pride made Jerome puff his chest out, shaking with silent laughter. “Get it nephew,” he chuckled as he left the house and hopped back in the car.

You and Franklin were none the wiser as you yelled in Franklin’s face, eyes wide, and body twitching beneath him. No longer able to play it cool, Franklin came with a vengeance. Sweet relief hit him as he came, as his cum shot out of him and into the condom. 

He moaned, collapsing against your neck. That buttery cake smell teased his nostrils and he breathed it in deeply. Your skin was damp with sweat and still, he kissed your neck before sliding out of you.

He was sensitive from cumming, back bowing as he slid all the way out. He squeezed the condom as he took it off, a neat drop of cum inside. He tied it off, throwing it into the nearest trash can. 

He snuggled back onto the bed with you, kissing your arm and then your cheek. You yawned and turned to him. “Fuck! Franklin! Damn!” You said comically, making him snort with laughter. 

“Was it okay for you?” He asked. He still needed that little bit of validation. He needed to hear you say that you enjoyed it, that he interpreted all of your signs correctly. 

“Okay? Franklin, that was intense and weird and fuck, I feel amazing! I,” you said and then bit your lip. You got to your elbows and looked quickly at him. “I want to do it again.”

Franklin chuckled. “I do too. But gon’ need a minute,” he said while he caught his breath. Maybe he needed thirty minutes. He was spent and didn’t know how he was going to recover so soon. To give you more. But damn if he didn’t want to try.

He pulled you closer to him, aligning your head into the crook of his arm. “You know I got you girl,” he said and smiled at the ceiling. He’d try to give you anything you asked for. Whether it be another orgasm, food, the moon, or a pencil. He’d give you anything in the world so long as he got to call you his. 

Always more Franklin to love! The Secret Franklin Saint Files

[konigsblog]

2023 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

general masterlist. photo credit @yumethefrostypanda

this masterlist features characters from call of duty modern warfare 2, as well as a few from black ops and ghosts. completed masterlist.

this may feature darker and more serious topics. not for minors, so don't interact. otherwise you'll be blocked.

day one, knife kink. (ghost x f! reader)

day two, size kink. (könig x f!reader)

day three, wax play. (soap x f!reader)

day four, intoxication kink. (gaz x f!reader)

day five, corruption kink. (price x f!reader)

day six, virginity loss. (alejandro x f!reader)

day seven, breeding kink. (könig x f!reader)

day eight, body worship. (rodolfo x m!reader)

day nine, age gap. (graves x m!reader)

day ten, pet play. (keegan x gn!reader)

day eleven, werewolf. (soap x f!reader)

day twelve, humilation. (sub!alejandro x f!reader)

day thirteen, somnophillia. (rodolfo x f!reader)

day fourteen, tentacles. (eldtrich!könig x f!reader)

day fifteen, overstimulation. (price x f!reader)

day sixteen, orgasm denial. (ghost x f!reader)

day seventeen, gloryhole. (gaz x f!reader)

day eighteen, double penetration. (gaz x soap x f!reader)

day nineteen, dub-con/persuasion. (price x f!reader)

day twenty, breath play. (ghost x gn!reader)

day twenty one, spanking. (graves x f!reader)

day twenty two, humilation. (frank woods x f!reader)

day twenty three, cock and ball torture. (soap x m!reader)

day twenty four, dub-con/blackmail (russell adler x f!reader)

day twenty five, deep throat. (hesh x f!reader)

day twenty six, face sitting. (alejandro x f!reader)

day twenty seven, intoxication kink. (price x f! reader)

day twenty eight, dry humping. (könig x f!reader)

day twenty nine, plugs. (keegan x f!reader)

day thirty, virginity loss. (rodolfo x f!reader)

day thirty one, gangbang. (141)

...

— @konigsblog, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

you may use this if you'd like, i will be writing each prompt for each day, so please don't request it in my inbox. i will get around to it when it's that day.

© konigsblog 2023 — do not copy, edit, repost my works on any other site without prior consent.

[chelseasdagger]

frank and his hairstyles over the years

reblog and write in the tags your favorite style + why!!