#i highly doubt they are faking their ages

[praeluxius]

c'est la vie - Kim Minju

Part 3 of folie à deux.

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male reader smut. (ft. a sprinkle of Wonyoung)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Masterlist word count: 10,553

c'est la vie - that's life

"I'm so fucked."

Fists clenched and eyes scrunched, you’re venting out loud to no one in particular. You repeat it, "I'm so fucked." Louder this time—to the sky. Well, more accurately, to the plastered ceiling of this little hole-in-the-wall. Either way, the solution isn't there.

It isn't at the bottom of a bottle either, but you're determined to find that out the hard way.

"Is there a friend I can call for you?" The woman behind the bar has stopped polishing off the glasses; interrupted by what she would say are the ramblings of a madman.

"There's no coming back from this." You throw your head forward, catching it in your now open hands, elbows resting on the wooden bar top.

"Sir? I'm going to call you a—"

"I don't need a cab." You draw your head from your hands and open your eyes—allowing the light to pour onto you from one of those little round lights above you. The drink sits in front of you, unfinished. Hard liquor in a tumbler just waiting to be thrown back like the three before it—a plea you can’t ignore. The large ice cube rests against your nose as you pour every last drop onto your tongue and swallow. "I do need another drink."

With the glass set back down, your body slouches and sinks. Eyes stare down at the empty glass and your face is cold to the world, cold to the woman across from you. You must reek of self-pity, the smell thick in the air. 

Let’s be honest, you've had far better days.

She's got her delicate fingers around the neck of the bottle, pouring you a fresh drink and placing it on a napkin, "you know, you're not the first person to stumble into this bar wearing a face like that."

You slide your eyes over to the glass and reach for it. "I highly doubt it."

"But, few of them show up this early, even if it is a Friday." She has a point: you’re propping up the bar alone and drowning your sorrows solo. In fact, there are only two other people in this whole place, sitting together at a table. "So what’s your story?"

"Does there have to be one?" You grip the glass in your hand, giving the stranger the best smile you can fake.

She steps back and brushes her hand on her trousers as she laughs, "I've seen many broken men and women sit at this bar and spend too many hours drinking their life savings, with hearts broken, dreams smashed and most of all, mistakes they regretted. But you seem different."

"Oh really, why's that?" Your eyes stare into your drink. It stares right back at you.

"You're still young."

"Does being broken have an age requirement?"

She shifts and reaches for something, something you can't quite make out, being locked in the most intimate of stares with your drink. It’s the sound of her placing down another fresh glass that gives it away. "Actually, yes. Because you've still got time to work with."

"That's the irony. All I have left is time."

“Then you have to believe in yourself to make the most of that time.” Her words are heavy, like their meaning holds weight within her too.

She lets you dwell on it for a moment while she pours her own drink. She settles herself against the bar top, across from you, resting her head in one open hand. Her gaze burns into you like sitting in the sun. You can feel something else too, a soft vibration in your pocket.

You finally break away from your staring contest with your drink—one you lost anyway—to fish your phone out of your pocket. The screen alights with Gaeul’s name and is followed by the words ‘1 new message’.

After a swipe, it reads, ‘wtf where are you? what happened?’ but the thought of sending a reply never crosses your mind. And, just in case, you switch it over to silent.

“Is that her?” The woman gently waves a slender finger towards your phone as you put it back where you found it. “The reason you’re here?”

"Do you press all your customers like this?"

“Only the interesting ones,” she returns her hand to her glass, taking a sip of it before continuing, “and there’s sadly so few of those.”

"And if I'm not as interesting as you think?"

"Then I'll buy you a drink.” She tilts her glass at you. "For the trouble."

"And if I'm fascinating?"

"I'll still buy you a drink." Another sip from her glass as her lip gloss stains the rim, "maybe two."

"Then no, it wasn't her." And here's the thing, you don't know who to blame. Yourself? Probably. Wonyoung? Maybe. The mystery cameraman who got it all on video? Almost definitely. 

“But it is another woman, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not exactly rushed off my feet here.”

You sigh, unsure exactly where to begin with this whole mess. The complete story is a long one. You could tell her about your family—the trouble at home and why you had to leave—but that’s not for anyone to know.

"I transferred here. Moved here with my brother. He's at work right now, and he will be late into the evening." You pause to take another drink. Another burning sensation. "To keep food on our table and keep me in college." 

Even saying so little it weighs on you, the feelings of regret and the feeling that you're saying too much. You bite your tongue and hesitate.

"So why are you here and… you know... not at college?" She pushes you for more. She flicks a finger towards you with her free hand and then brings her glass to her lips.

You drag your eyes up for the first time and finally inspect the woman across from you.

She's your age, roughly—if you had to guess. She's pretty, and that part you're more confident about. She wears her long brunette hair over one shoulder, running in a loose wave, over her slate black blazer, which sits over a small black tee, cropped at the waist. She smiles when your eyes meet hers. And maybe she had no idea, and perhaps it's all subconscious, but the tips of her slender fingers squeeze slightly against the glass now that you're paying her some attention.

"I never got your name," you say with curiosity laden in your voice.

"Minju."

"And why is a young woman like you working here on a Friday afternoon?"

"Were you not the one telling me about your troubles?" She follows her words with a soft laugh.

"Call it quid pro quo. You answer and then I’ll tell you all about it," you say.

"Fine." She stands back upright, adjusting her blouse with a few gentle touches. The way her finger glides across the collar and tugs at it slightly. It's more than a little distracting. She cuts a sleek hourglass shape out of the shelves of bottled booze behind her. "I'm between gigs right now."

"Gigs?"

"Ah." She waves a finger. "My turn."

Minju tilts her head and then rests her palm against the bar—leaning toward you and eyes focused. It’s like an inspection and you instinctively sit up straighter.

"So why are you here?" she asks.

"Expelled. About..." You bring up your wristwatch into view. "About an hour ago."

Her brows go up a fraction and her eyes narrow on you again, almost as if to accuse you of lying to her. But her expression softens almost instantly. You would never notice if not for watching every second in painstaking detail. Her widening eyes reveal to you the thoughts passing through her mind as she racks her brain for a reason you would be expelled.

"You said that you're between gigs, so what is it you do?" you say, shifting the focus back away from yourself.

"I sing. I dance. I model. I act." She pauses with a bitter look. "However, right now, I serve drinks." You get it; she looks the part. That much is clear. She's far too gorgeous to be spending her time polishing glasses and serving screwdrivers to burnouts at happy hour. She looks every bit like a woman who should be so much more, but this isn't Hollywood, and the storybook tale of the waitress who makes it is so cliché.

You swill the last of your drink around in the glass, watching the little tidal pattern inside. The way the ice cube moves with the current, it hypnotises, entrances. You speak, looking down into the amber-hued ocean within your glass.

"And you have the talent to back up the looks?"

"So they tell me." There's no joy in the words or the tone. No pride or smug sense of achievement. If anything, it's dismissive. “It’s just a slow period. That’s life.”

“C’est la vie.” You catch her gaze as you utter the phrase under your breath.

Minju continues despite you, “but things will turn around soon enough. I'm going places."

"Every actor who is going places never seems to get there." Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's because, right now, you hate this city and everyone in it, but everything that comes out of your mouth is uncharacteristically curt.

And look, you regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth but that doesn't change the way you just dismissed her. It wasn't meant personally, but it's hard to stop your thoughts from curdling into words right now.

Minju is quiet, and the air becomes heavy. You swallow deep and finally look her in the eyes again. There's something there, some little flicker of emotion untold that gives her away for a moment. She is a woman told repeatedly that she has the world at her feet, but the hard truth of it is that she's here, working away behind the bar because, in fact, life is a lot more cruel.

Absorbed by her vulnerability, you feel the need to backtrack, "that's not—"

"So what, you look at me and see nothing but a girl who couldn't cut it?" There's a flash of fire in her eyes. A burn. A spark that sets the sky alight. A very attractive spark.

The way she fires it back. The passion in her words. The tension building between you as your eyes linger on each other.

You can't explain the attraction, but you can certainly feel it.

"No," you fire back without hesitation, leaning towards her, "what I see is a woman working two jobs just to afford a place to live." Your confidence rises with the alcohol pumping its way through your system and you do your damnedest to rescue the situation. "What I see is a girl with stars in her eyes and a dream that somehow she still keeps alive where so many more have given up. I'm not judging."

Silence.

Sudden, silent, and slightly sinister.

"Yeah, you were," Minju's eyebrows arch in amusement, "but that's fine, I'll take my turn now."

As she leans forward, there are words on her tongue. She looks ready to bite back, but she's looking over you, across the room, watching the only other two people in the bar leave. And for a minute, everything is held in suspense, you are locked together in silence, the clap of their shoes echoing through it. Then the sound of the door, and the brief exposure to the outside world, it's the rain pouring and the cars passing by and then it's the slam shut. It's just you and her, Minju, alone under the dim of the lights.

"So what was it?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Hm?"

"What got you expelled?"

You could lie. There's an opportunity for that. But what's the point? Even though she's a stranger, it doesn't feel like there's a risk if you just come clean and spill your dirty little secret, besides, you owe her one now.

"I got caught fucking in the library." The truth comes out plain and simple. It’s a brazen statement to make in the middle of the afternoon to a stranger. Her gaze shoots down at you. Whatever she expected, it wasn't that.

"I’m sorry, you were caught fucking in the library?" She repeats it out quizzically as if she’s taking time to process. Minju has this way of talking—a lilt in her voice. She has a tone and a pitch that rises and falls with each word. She's amused, that much is clear, by the slight smirk that has curled a corner of her mouth to accompany her sound.

"We were alone, or at least we thought we were, and it’s not like we hadn’t done it before, but apparently, there's evidence." You gesture your empty glass at her, a secondary conversation, unspoken but clear that you need another drink before you tell her anything else.

In doing so you see how she tenses her lips together, holding in her laughter at the thought. She’s holding and you’re watching until she finally cracks, her grin wide and laughter loud.

"Now I am the one judging you. You made fun of me for trying while you're too busy swinging your cock around to even try. So, you tell me, who is the stupid one here?"

"Alright I deserved that one." Your hand had been holding the empty glass to her but now you bring it to rest against the bar top. "In my defence, it's not like I had much of a choice. That girl..."

"Here we go. Let's see how you justify this one." She finally takes your empty glass and when the edge of her fingers brushes across the back of your hand, they linger for far too long. And when she draws back, dragging away those long, delicate fingers from your own, you find yourself suddenly cold.

"It's not like I could turn her down if I wanted to. Also I would never have done it in the library if she didn't make me."

"She 'made' you. Go on." There's scepticism in the words. Her mocking tone teasing you as you watch her turn to the shelves behind her, eyes scanning the possibilities.

"No one says no to her. Never."

"Wow, sounds like quite a woman," she says, ever more playful, as she reaches for the top shelf. Her blazer is pulled up now, ever so slightly exposing her back above the waist of her trousers. Trousers hugging the subtle swell of her hips. Her small, tight, round ass is defined through the fitted fabric. You can't look away.

"Everything comes easily for her. There are literally men fighting for her affections. They would die for her," the words tumble from your mouth, as your gaze lingers.

You must have been lost in the daze and absent-mindedly following the contours of her thighs because by the time you shift focus to her face, she's peering at you from over her shoulder. Eyes sharp as daggers, as if to say it’s a little too obvious.

"Wow she sounds like a real piece of work. I know someone like that too. " Minju turns with bottle in hand, hair swirling around her as she does so. She's graceful. Unbothered and unhurried by anything. "This one is perfect. This bottle is older than me."

She pours two fresh drinks with more ice in each.

"Am I going to regret this in the morning?" you question as the weight of the glass finds your hand.

"You might. But at this moment? No."

You trust her, somehow, inexplicably; you do.

She asks, “so, what will you do now?” it’s a question as funny as it is difficult to answer. 

The truth is that you haven’t got the slightest clue. You tell her as much and try to explain it as best you can, and her eyes soften as you share the details. It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth—quid pro quo—but she’s pressing you with question after question: how long have you known her? Is she pretty? Where does she see you in all of this?

“You and her. Still a thing?”

Minju is on your side of the bar now, sitting by your side with little caution about personal space; there’s not an inch of space between you. Her thigh presses against you and her upper arm is flush with your own.

"Me and Wonyoung were never a thing, not really."

Minju stops dead and chokes, holding her throat, and forcing the drink down. Her whole body shifts. She nearly falls off the bar stool and, after steadying herself, she stares blankly forwards.

"Wonyoung? Jang Wonyoung?"

"Yeah, her." The new drink meets your lips and its taste is a hell of a lot richer than the cheap stuff you were pouring down. It’s laden with a smoky taste over sweet tones.

There's a silence even after you finish taking a drink. Something untold hangs in the air. You know it. She knows it. She's here on the verge of telling you something, but what? And you sit here and wait, despite the racing of your heartbeat.

"I should have known." Minju shakes her head, laughing, but without a smile.

"Should've known what?"

"You're Wonyoung's new toy. I should have guessed as soon as I saw you, she has this effect on people."

You stiffen at that. It's always the truth that hurts the most and the fact is you really were just a toy. A convenient dildo.

"You know what you need right now?" She twists on the stool, and suddenly, you've got Minju looking straight at you. Eyes locking with you. Right there. Looking up at you. So close. Right there, leaning back ever so slightly so her chest arches towards you, accentuating her small breasts, straining against her shirt.

"Drinking helps," you reply, raising your glass.

"Yes, but so does fucking."

That’s a line. It’s one that shouldn’t come as a surprise because a girl like this probably has a lot of experience in being wanted, so who is to say she can’t turn the table for once? But in one breath you’re giddy, taken out of yourself and feeling drunker by the moment. Not on the booze, but her. She is intoxicating.

It takes you a few seconds to notice but her free hand slips on your leg, rubbing and caressing as it snakes further and further up.

"What?" You ask as if it needs confirmation and in those long few moments, you think you must have imagined it. And the same way a nervous laughter rises, the laughter spilling out of your throat, she is quick to quench the growing dread inside of you by sliding her palm across your bulge.

"Wait here." Something has switched inside her. You don’t know what, but either way, it's got her standing up and strutting towards the door. With each step, she opens her body language. A growing swagger, letting you see the sway of her hips. Left and right. Just enough to catch the eye. And oh boy, does your eye get caught. You couldn't pull your gaze away now if you wanted to.

She's swiping hands at the door now and flicking the locks. Then she's pulling the blinds shut. A giggle comes from Minju as she spins back to face you. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth and stares right into you.

You feel exposed but, strangely, comfortable. It's so very odd; with no clue as to what happens next. It has your heart pounding out of your chest.

"I thought you were alone tonight because you were upset, but no, I understand it now. You're frustrated. Angry. Stressed. She used you and got away with it."

She kicks off her heels, loses a few centimetres in height, and is walking barefoot across the floor - toward you. Her shoulder rolls to one side and then to the other as her body rises and falls, sashays with the pace of her hips. She can see that you're stuck. You’re rooted to the seat with a dumb look on your face, and yet she saunters ever closer.

“I am a little confused,” you finally say. She's so close that all your senses are lost to the approach of Minju's swaying frame. Her curves, her body, her gentle steps, the way her perfume smells—it's consuming you.

She ignores you and continues, "I’m frustrated too. I'm so frustrated that I'm wasting time in this damn bar. I'm angry at all the auditions that ended up with producers rejecting me. I know exactly what you're feeling. You're angry at the world and everyone in it." Her tone grows raspier. More raw and less stable. "You feel alone. Hung out to dry and in need of attention."

"And you feel the same?"

"Yes, and I'm hungry. Starved of any real satisfaction. You told me I’m going nowhere and I guess it means I need a little attention, too."

You watch her eyes flittering as she looks you up and down. The sultry grin she wears shows she likes what she sees.

"So what are you going to do about it, Minju? What is the solution?" You drop a look down to the soft and slender flesh of her neck.

"No strings. We get this all out of our system." Minju leans in. Lips so close to yours. She stays there. It's torture. "You let all that shit out. Take out your pent-up stress, frustration, anger."

"On you?"

"Exactly. You'll feel better. I will too. Because right now…" Her nose presses against the side of your own. Soft skin. Gentle pressure. "I need it rough."

Her hand lands on your thigh again, rubbing down the denim of your jeans.

The offer is enticing. It has your head swimming with dirty images of everything the two of you could do together, and your cock? Well, that's already twitching in your underwear.

"This isn’t going to help, it will just make things worse."

"Can they really get any worse?"

Minju brings your hand, hers and yours, to her waist. Your thumb feels the soft material of her shirt, and your fingers touch that small patch of skin below it.

"Are we prepared to find out?" Your lips graze gently against hers. The thrill. The electricity in the air.

"I’m ready. More than ready. Just this once, do what you want to do and make me the star of your fantasy. Use me. Make me everything you need." She plants her lips firmly on yours. You both go quiet, muffled by a kiss.

Nothing to do but feel.

Minju's grip tightens on your leg, and yours on her waist. The other hand slides up to her chest, finding her breast, cupping it and feeling her. She opens her mouth. And you follow. Your tongues are colliding and sweeping across one another, eager and desperate.

So you push, guiding the two of you to stand. Minju staggers back, and you're with her every step of the way. Stumbling through a kiss. Hands everywhere. Uncertain. Lost, confused, and passionate. It's an incoherent tumble that takes you both crashing through chairs, pushing them aside until you hit something sturdy. Minju's ass slams against the pool table and she grunts into your mouth.

Her lips drag away and she smiles. "Fuck me."

You grab her by the hips, lifting her onto the pool table.

"I need to see the big cock that’s got Wony all worked up. She wouldn’t settle for anything disappointing." She's fumbling at your waist, struggling with the buckle of your jeans.

"This what you want?" Your words vibrate through her. And when you take a handful of her hair and tug, there's a long, soft, desperate sigh from Minju's parted lips.

"Use me. Abuse me." Her fumbling finally succeeds and the waist of your trousers slackens. "I know how I look, but don't worry, you're not going to break me."

She's pushing at your trousers, your boxers, and when that stiff dick pops out, her smile spreads into a big, stupid grin. It's not an unattractive expression—not really. It just tells the truth. She is excited. 

It’s as clear as day that you are too. You’re rock hard, stiff as hell, ready to fuck, and this, this will give you the chance to let it all out. All of it.

"Perfect." Minju grabs your cock in both hands, still warm, throbbing, and strong. "Just look at this thing."

You pull on her hair again, harder, until she breaks away from you, until she gives way—losing the grip on your cock and falling back on the table. And now you slow as if to savour the moment as you’re sliding your fingers under the waist of her trousers. Not often you get afforded a measure of control.

"C’mon, please, don't be gentle," Minju moans out through gritted teeth. The desperation is painted on her face and that’s the difference here: while a girl like Wonyoung wouldn’t let you go slow, Minju is the type of girl who makes you not want to go slow.

So you pull at the trousers of the girl sprawling out in front of you, tearing the button from the fabric, yanking them open and pulling them down those long, slender legs. The flesh is soft. And to touch, so smooth and light. Minju's breathing picks up—becoming shorter and deeper with each touch to her sensitive skin.

"I might leave marks."

Minju stares you down, hands already massaging over her panties. "I hope you will."

The thought is intoxicating, so much more so than the alcohol in your blood, as your hands paw over her legs; you knead soft skin with a kind of aggression you haven't felt before.

Minju is a rare girl.

Beautiful. And by definition, beautiful women have seen it all before.

But her?

The look she gives? Like no man has ever fully satisfied the itch within her. It's deep-set hunger. The kind that she chases endlessly for.

This hunger makes people behave stupidly, careless and forgetful of the consequences. And maybe you know that all too well but even still it's a risk worth taking. Every choice has led you here and maybe that is your solace, that it's not all downhill from here.

And as your hands reach her small satin panties, the warmth embraces you, and the urge within you grows. You hook your fingers inside and draw the panties aside to expose the tight pink flesh of Minju's cunt.

Not that you would expect anything else, but she is clean-shaven. So smooth. Not a single blemish. This is a girl who kept herself neat and pristine, and yet from her mouth spills utter filth, "just look at how wet this pussy is for you."

She's running her fingers between her lips, showing you everything she has to offer between her legs, showing you where she expects you dick will get put to use.

"This tight fucking cunt can take everything your thick cock has to give."

"Minju, you’re so..." You're standing over her, her legs spread wide beside you, blazer falling from her shoulders leaving nothing covering her but that low-cut top.

Minju stares right at you, eyes fixed, wide and eager, her chest heaves with every deepening breath she takes in. She's wild, reaching for you with one hand, stretching to hold you and then pulling at your shirt to draw you in.

"I'm so needy. Please fuck me." She's whining through closed lips as her other hand slips away from her pussy and glides over her taut abs and leaving her cunt ready to be used. She wants it, desperately, and you're drawing it out. Making it build inside her, and you hold your cock in your hand.

You're stroking, and she's watching. And for all her strain to pull at your shirt, to pull you into her, you hold back. You hold just long enough. Enough for her arm to fall limp. Enough for her to almost give in. "Please..." she trails off with a whimper.

You push the head of your stiff cock against her cunt—against her clit. Your hips roll as you run the entire underside of your cock between her lips. She gasps and breathes deeply. She's holding it all the while. All the time it takes for you to draw your cock back, so the tip is right there. Ready.

She let's go as you do. The air escapes her lungs with a sharp squeal. You let your cock sink in. Slow but persistent, you push further and further, feeling her tensing. Then the clench and tightness overwhelms. She gasps and squirms, wriggles beneath you and her nails scratch at the fabric of the table beneath her.

You push again, sinking your cock as far as you can through her wet hole.

There's a loud snap and squeal from Minju. Pretty girl broke a nail. It flew off somewhere across the room, such is her grip onto the table. "Fuck. So fucking full," she manages, barely. It's more the noise you force from her than any actual communication.

You draw your hips back and she's quick to encourage you, "again," she says.

Your hips are driving forward again, pushing every last centimetre back through her.

Minju whimpers. There's this short, sweet purr from deep within her. You feel her stretch, she moves a little, adjusting herself atop the pool table. There's a warmth that swells, tightens, and pulsates. And you feel the breath come easier. It leaves her as though her body has settled to a kind of ease and pleasure, some form of satisfaction.

You refuse to let her rest. It's not what she would want.

It's not what you want.

You run your hands along her inner thighs, past her knees until you finally reach her ankles and pull them together and hold them aloft. You lift and pull her ass up slightly from the table. She's suspended now while you fuck into her.

The shake of her small frame is completely erotic. Watching her ass and thighs jiggle as you fuck into her. That plump little ass taking slap after slap from your hips.

Her perfect skin reddens as her moans louden the longer you last. There are high-pitched squeals and low and gritty growls. They bounce around the empty bar, reverberating and multiplying—echoing back louder than before.

"Harder." She thinks she can take more. Look, Wonyoung was demanding, she wanted to control everything and push your limits, but Minju? Minju is whole different type of demanding. She's welcoming everything you have with every fibre of her being. Her pussy so eagerly taking it all, and it just seems like no matter what limit you push past, or the more Minju takes, the more she craves.

You pull her legs to you, calves on your shoulders, feet in the air, and your hands move firmly onto her hips. You steady her—ready her. Your grip bruises the tender skin (hey, it's what she wants) and then you fuck her like your life depends on it. Your cock pumping inside with reckless abandon.

"Keep going! Just like that! Fuck!" her voice rises over the rhythm of your low grunts, and the crack of your hips slapping against her ass.

Minju's face twists, red and flushed. She's so tense. Muscles tight around the neck and her teeth buried in the soft flesh of her lower lip. Her voice is low and raw, growling, as she pleads for more with words you can't pretend to understand. It's not eloquent or graceful... In fact, it's that incoherence that makes this all the better—so utterly unbothered, unconcerned with anything other than being thoroughly used, fucked and defiled.

She has that hungry glaze in her eyes when you look down upon her, a girl being exactly the kind of filthy thing she promised to be. And those eyes only draw you in, you're pushing over her, folding her legs further against her body until she's truly helpless. Pinned to the table. Bent in two. No ability, nor want, to stop you from dominating her.

"I'm gonna—" she tries to speak until you press down, right into her. She squeezes your cock inside that tight, creaming hole. Then she whines, loud.

So loud.

Her back would arch high if it could. But she can't break free. You have her completely immobilized with your upper bodyweight. And fuck does she love every second of it. She's got handfuls of her shirt, pulling it, clutching, writhing. Ecstasy courses through her and eyes roll.

And now she's rolling, you're turning her. Ankles in your hands, you have pulled out and you're flipping her onto her front, face down into the table. She’s just… accepting it. Not an ounce of fight in her. Not even a word. Just a throaty moan.

"Be a good girl for me, won’t you?” you’re ordering, “give me your hands.” 

She reaches her arms back over her subdued body and lets you take her delicate wrists.

She submits.

Just lying there prone, her delicate body against the table, with that tight little ass perched on the edge of it, and that skimpy underwear still pushed aside for her throbbing cunt. Those slender legs left hanging either side of you. And go on, you're allowed to think it in the simplest of terms; Minju is sexy. In a word, that's it. Sexy. And yet, the reality is there's so much more you can say. Every soft curve of her toned body is alluring, she is magnetic and inviting, and that cute face peering over her shoulder, long hair spilled all behind it. All the words in the world couldn't do justice to describe her—couldn't properly capture the image.

"What are you going to do to me, daddy?" Oh, she says it so seamlessly, slips it in like it's been on her lips for a while - floating in the atmosphere since you took control. And now that it's finally landed, you feel its weight. It has her voice different; smokey and dripping with sex. And it hits you straight between your legs. 

She licks her lips and tests it out again, just for good measure: "what does daddy think I deserve?" 

One hand holding her wrists against the small of her back, another gripping her hip. Her legs sway lazily, unable to reach the floor. Helplessly dangling, waiting for her fate. And you're not a man to disappoint a girl like Minju.

"I'm going to use the needy little slut in front of me," you say as the head of your stiff cock probes at her cunt, slipping between her wet lips and sliding against her swollen clit. Teasing her. 

You draw it back up again and pushing apart her ass cheeks with the length of your cock. Slipping under the thin fabric of her soaked panties.

She bites her lower lip and whimpers through her teeth. The head of your wet cock slides against her tight asshole, and her hips twitch back. "Whatever you need, take it from me." She means that. There's yearning in every word. The hunger and desire in her voice growing thicker.

You push against her, cock sandwiched between her cheeks, pushing your weight down and pressing her against the table. Her eyes close for a moment, her fingers curl into her palms.

"Yes. Fuck," Minju's desperate encouragement spills through clenched teeth.

You pull back your cock and replace it with your thumb, sliding your hand over her ass and slipping it against her puckered hole.

"Please da—" You slip the tip of your thumb just inside her ass and hold it there while she holds her breath. 

Anticipation— 

Waiting— 

Knowing what's coming next. 

Minju is completely still as you drive your cock into her cunt again. Sinking yourself in so deep—balls deep. Her hands become tight fists and her whole body is shaking. You withdraw and plunge again, and she hisses, breathing from the bottom of her lungs, ragged and shallow, and fighting to speak.

"I'm a dirty, needy, little slut and you’re going to use me—"

You spit at her spread ass, right onto your thumb, and use it to dig a little deeper. "What are you?" your question provokes an instant answer,

"I'm a horny slut. I'm a fuck-hole. That's what I am."

As if it's a reward for her honesty, you fuck her a little harder. Push your thumb a little deeper. She smiles through a howl of ecstasy, the sound swelling into the room.

"Tell me again," you command with another pump of your hips, stretching her even more with your thumb.

Her words crackle, dying in her throat with each impact of your hips, "I'm just a dumb girl who needs to be full of cum."

No sane man would refuse it. Not you, not anyone. Definitely not you at all. You couldn't resist any part of her, but especially not that filthy demand. Especially not with how you felt watching those gorgeous fucking curves ripple every time your hips slapped against her ass.

It's all so easy, how you continue, keeping pace. Thumb deep in her ass. Balls smacking against her soaked pussy with every thrust. It's a pleasure all too overwhelming—a thrill, a sensation, a powerful sense of utter fucking satisfaction and all-consuming desire—an erotic overflow inundates, a swell, an ever-growing crest inside your balls.

"Minju. I'm. Gonna—"

"Cum in me? Please." She's the hallmark of innocence-gone-wrong; the way such words roll off her tongue with playful ease. And she knows all the right ones. The ones that she knows will bring all the right reactions. To speak to you on a primal level. She's at it again, cutting into you, "Inside— Inside me."

Cutting through you like the blade of a knife, right to your core and you obey—fuck.

"Daddy please."

You're incensed.

Dogged with the pounding you're giving her, you have lost control of just how deep you have your thumb in her ass. This is so Indecent. Obscene, even. For you, or for anyone, to just... enjoy something like this. Your body is roaring with lust as her ass and cunt both squeeze on you, clamping you as you drive yourself to the brink.

"I wanna... feel your hot load," her voice comes shaking through the unabated pounding you're inflicting. "Fill me please," she's begging and it sounds a little clearer now, stronger, a little louder, no doubt because she knows it's almost done.

You tug at her wrists, pulling her arms back and her body away from the table. Her head hangs forward beneath a wave of hair. Face covered by sweat streaks across those pretty sculpted features.

"Please, I'll be a good girl and take every drop. All the fucking cum that daddy has. Make me your stupid dirty little slut," she compels, then yelps with every new slam and stroke of the stiff cock being buried into her again and again.

That tight asshole, and that cock-hugging pussy. All the relentless slamming that you have done and will do. All the desires, with the pent-up frustration, the rage and anger and tension that has built up—you release it. Everything goes as you send your load rushing through your cock to paint her insides.

Pushing everything you have in. Pumping. Driving hard.

Her squeals are like music to the soul. Relief and rapture are overflowing. And fuck. What a ride. What a rush. You pump her full until she's gasping for air, struggling in your grasp and making sure to moan each and every dirty word into the atmosphere as she fights to hold on. What a thrill. And as the two of you hit the limits of physical exhaustion and exhilaration, you pull back. Letting the girl lay there, spent, and filled, on the pool table.

Used.

Satisfied.

Sullied.

Minju to you, today, is a feeling of freedom. Fulfilment. Absolution. As she lay limp, arms out, legs hanging, hair draped over her face and pooling on the table—a girl well fucked and on display. She is satisfaction. And she is dripping with your cum.

She slips her fingers under her panties. That shrivelled piece of fabric that clings, or struggles to. Now she pushes them off her hips and they tumble over her feet.

When this beautiful girl speaks her voice has the distinct scratch of someone whose lungs have had the oxygen stolen from them, her throat sore with moaning, "I need more."

She moves to her back and you can only watch in amazement as she turns to you with that flush face. One of her small, delicate hands falling between her legs and her dainty fingers tracing around her cunt—through her pink folds, and dousing them in your leaking cum.

There's a knock at the door. It rattles in the frame. "Open up!" It's the voice of the young man seeking an afternoon drink. You think that, luckily, hopefully, between the blinds, the posters and the neon lights in the windows along with the dim lighting, he can't see in.

"Fuck off!" Minju shouts. Her chest is heaving, and there are the gentle lulls of a giggle welling in her throat.

You notice she hasn't moved the fingers away from her swollen and sticky cunt. There's a building cackle, almost as if she is going to fall into hysterics.

"Let me in! You should be open!"

"I said fuck off!" Minju's climbing from the table with a wild smile on her face. Cum is trailing from her cunt, pooling, oozing, dripping down her thigh, down her leg. Her tongue slides over her lips, she's eying you up like a tiger.

"I want to ride your thick cock." She's breathing the words out heavy and finally pulling that shirt over her head. Small round breasts exposed. Stiff dark nipples. Hard and taught. That bare torso. Tight and tone. Firm and solid. Every muscle defined under glistening, sweaty skin.

She pushes herself against you until you push between a pair of stools and your ass plants against the bar. "You made me a dirty girl, and now I can't stop."

You find her strength a little unnerving, the way seems so unphased and determined. She's running on pure adrenaline. It's hot, sure, a kind of raw passion is certainly not without appeal, but also maybe a touch too overpowering. The way that she grabs at you, a touch forceful, and the way you come together is perhaps too rough and less than elegant.

So unkempt, un-romantic, yet so insanely gratifying as her soft skin finds yours.

You take her body in your arms, lips on one another, exploring mouths with tongues. Grasping the round cheek of her ass as she lifts her left thigh up to your waist. Hand trailing between the two of you and then grabbing a firm hold of your cock, guiding the thing back to her pussy—and not letting go.

This is it. This is where she belongs.

It’s all so natural for her to be on the end of your cock, so much so that she can casually pull away from the kiss to switch her focus to finding a drink on the bar behind you. She’s taking a drink of it now and some of it spills from the corner of her mouth.There is something undignified in that, but utterly perfect nonetheless.

She's grinding against you now, swirling her hips and cooing like a little kitten, as your hands move over her ass and that silken smooth back.

Minju sets the empty glass back down on the bar, and pulls back to meet your eyes. She presses a finger to her tongue, her eyes gleaming and focused solely on you, as she guides a small, playful trail of drool to run over her glistening tits. "Fuck," she breathes through a grin, taking both her hands and smoothing that drool over her chest.

Another knock at the door. Another fist pounded into its frame.

All these fucking interruptions.

"Ugh! Fuck this. Come on, follow me." And before you know it, she's guiding you across the room. "I'm going to ride you until I can't walk. Until I'm so sore that every step will remind me what it felt like to have you deep inside me."

Your phone rings, on the floor in the pocket of your trousers. Who would call right now? Just as one interruption finally concedes at the door, another emerges.

Minju bends to fish it out of your trousers. Her little ass, one cheek marred with a handprint from your grasp, is so close you could bend forward and eat it (any other time, you would.) but it's not that which intrigues you the most. When she rises, slowly, your phone is in her grasp, screen displaying Wonyoung's name.

"This should be fun," Minju chuckles to herself. She swipes the answer button and raises the device to her ear. "Hello?"

Minju reaches out to hold your hand and pulls you toward the staff only door. "Sorry, he's a little busy right now," she says as she walks through the door with you in tow. Her head pivots. Minju stares, eyes boring deep into yours. That sultry expression. The spark of desire igniting all over again.

Minju turns on her heel, letting you go and taking a step back. Thin fingers stroke over her cum-soaked thigh, up and along her wet lips, higher and past her flat stomach, sliding between her firm tits. "He is really busy."

She points at the couch in the break room, gesturing you to sit. You oblige, a little nervous about the turn of events. She's rubbing at her perky little tits as she speaks, "do you want me to take a message?"

"Minju..." you say with warning, ready to take the phone off her. But it's so hard to ignore how utterly sexy she is, and your hand starts to stroke along your shaft. She turns her body and poses, looking over her shoulder to you, and she grins. Minju affords you all the time you need to admire her while she listens to the ramblings of Wonyoung through your phone.

Minju steps toward you, looking down at you. "You need to speak to him?" She rests a hand on your shoulder, and then she clambers over you, straddles you. Her leaking cunt right above your cock. She licks her lips and rubs her slick pussy over your stiff dick, eyes focused on you, head tilted down. "Give me one second."

She holds the phone against her collar and shifts above you, resting the tip of your cock against her hole.

"Minju, let me—"

She sinks onto your cock. 

Inch by pleasurable inch, she takes you. Minju rocks forward and adjusts to settle on the length of your rod. Fully hilted and stuffed. She's a slick sheath of velvet on your stiff rod and you realise then just how perfectly she fits on you. You bite your tongue, trying to not make a noise so you don't alert the woman on the other end of the phone. Minju, however, is careless, and she lets out a soft moan as she shifts on you, readying herself.

Cum still seeps out of her cunt and down your shaft—your own and hers in some messy cocktail. The smell is sharp but unmistakable. It hangs in the air as the unmistakable evidence of what has happened and what will happen again. It’s so potent; invigorating and exciting. A reminder of everything and more, as if you would ever forget it—as if you could ever forget what she has become for you.

Minju draws the phone back to her face and, with a cocky smirk parting her lips, she speaks again, her voice breathy and full of lust. 

"He's in a bit of a tight spot right now." She throws you a wink and continues, "give him ten—wait, no—give him fifteen minutes and whatever is left of him is all yours."

There's the sound of a voice coming through the phone, so unmistakably Wonyoung's but you can't make a word of it out. There's another sound, one much dirtier, that fills the air between the two of you. The soft squelching as Minju rocks and rotates those full hips on you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Minju is stifling a giggle and not-really trying to keep the naughtiness of the situation in check. "Yeah, Wonyoung,you’re right. It's me, Minju," she purrs, biting her lip as her eyes fix on you. Then her tongue flits from her lips, sweeping from left to right.

‘It's me, Minju.’

Look, it’s not really a surprise that they know each other well. It was always a possibility that Minju had just heard of Wonyoung but had never really been acquainted. Thinking back, however, the strength of her reaction to the girl’s name should have told you everything. The truth is now ever so clear. 

Not that Minju is going to let you process it. She will not allow you to focus on anything other than the caress of her pussy over your sensitive cock. She's elegant with the movements of her hips—the motions subtle and slow. Her pace is sinful. She's running her tongue over her teeth and staring at you, enjoying the quiet grunts that rattle from your throat.

"He showed up in—" Her breath hitches and she catches a moan in her throat before it escapes. "In the bar, drinking alone."

There's a gasp, then another as she strokes her hands through the locks of your hair. "Yeah. He was doing that." She's laughing under her breath and looking you up and down. "That thing with his hand, yeah, it's cute."

“What? No. I wouldn’t.” You’re getting half a conversation and none of it makes any sense.

She reaches out her hand to the side of your face, thumb brushing the line of your jaw and her body leaning in. "He's got a sexy jaw line," she admits and then picks up the speed of her movement. 

Her hand slides down your neck and presses into your collar. "His body?" Minju hums as her hips are churning; her body is rolling and her abs are flexing. "Yeah, I think so too."

Minju's back arches and her tiny tits bounce as her movement changes, bouncing rhythmically on your cock. She's adjusting and getting more comfortable on you. As the seconds pass, she's getting rougher and moving ever faster. 

Fuck.

"Well, he's drunk, so it's no surprise."

It's been no end of strange situations over the past couple of months, but this may well be the strangest yet. The girls are having a friendly conversation, but one is on top of a cock that's dripping with her mess.You're still trying to piece it together. They're friends—that much is clear. But there's still so many questions unasked: How? Since when? And why are they having their catch up right fucking now?

Her delicate frame moves fast now and the rise and fall of her chest growing sharper leading to short breaths.

"Mhm," she utters, keeping her voice low and words at a premium. "N—No we aren't." To give her credit, she's actually very good at sounding natural. In some twisted way, it's one hell of an audition for how talented of actress she can actually be. 

But that image comes crumbling down before your eyes.

Just for a moment, the picture freezes. Her mouth is half-open, eyes wide. She bites down on her lip, silencing herself, and then she drops her hand from her ear. She's hitting her fist, clenched around the phone, against her thigh repeatedly as she fights against her own body. There's another choked grunt as she is being pushed ever so close to the edge.

She draws the phone to her face again, breathing in deep and staring at you with those glossy eyes scanning all across your body, and she swallows. 

"We aren't fucking," Minju denies, as your hands creep up from her slender thighs, sliding over those beautiful taut hips, gripping tight and helping pull her back and forth. It's clear, from the way she bites down on her bottom lip, the subtle trembling of her chin, she's hanging on by a thread, ready to lose it at any second.

"No. Don't—" Minju holds the phone out, and she’s looking at it—you can see it too—Wonyoung has just ended the call. "Ah fuck it." Minju throws the phone down on the couch.

She looks at you with a face that's a little lost in thought, considering things unknown to you. All while her body is on auto-pilot, still fucking down onto you. 

After a moment, her face changes, an expression of indifference, of calmness. She smiles a little and rests both of her hands on your shoulders. Staring deep into your eyes, she grows ever more serious with a tinge of intent. She shifts from auto-pilot to manual, tightening the grip with her legs and slowing the pace, but fucking you harder.

Minju rides the ridge of your cock. Your whole length is dragged up and down her insides, setting every inch of you on fire. She moans every time she slams onto you. 

Every time. 

She's falling further apart in front of you—coming completely undone. Eyes rolling and biting that lip again. Hips shifting in all kinds of directions. A cacophony of beautiful grunting sounds that flood the room.

Minju is a woman derailed by pleasure.

"God. Your cock— Your cock is—" She's struggling now and you're only going to make it worse. Using the hands on her hips, you buck yourself up into her, bringing yourself a fraction closer each time. 

"The things this cock— the things you— fuck." Minju has no power to string any kind of sentences together, no matter how many words you force from her. They grow less and less like words you can understand until all that remains are these loud and unashamed gasps. 

Gasp after sharp and unstoppable gasp.

The rush of exhilaration courses through her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She feels it. All over. It's written on her face, in the way that she moves and in the look in her eyes. A look like that is a hard thing to fake, even for her—there's nothing else like it. Minju is cumming all over your cock and every bit of it is evident in every tense muscle, the quiver in the corner of her mouth, the sheen across her brow, the mist in her eyes as she blinks lazily and tries not to be overcome, overawed, with emotion and all the intense sensations, one wave after another, rippling through her.

You're just about there again too. You try to warn her, but you're fucking up into her with so much energy that you're not sure if the words ever left your mouth. But she knows it, somehow, because she has renewed aggression in her. Even through her orgasm, she's bouncing on your cock with such ferocity. Minju takes hold of your head and draws you into her. Nose to nose. Foreheads touch. "Cum in me again."

They're four of the best words she could have said.

She rides you faster still as you pump rope after hot rope into her cunt, your entire length filling her already overflowing cunt. You cum so hard inside her that the world seems to distort, twist, and wane.

"Yes! Yes!" she shouts in a whisper—her voice stolen by pleasure. "Fill my little pussy."

And with every last ounce of strength you have, you continue. Bucking into her, driving deeper with the last throes of your second load. It's too much. It's beyond pleasure and into pain now, as you have nothing left to give her.

You squeeze at her hips and waist, holding her down and doing everything you can to stop her fucking you.

You're panting. Tired. Done.

Done.

Minju raises herself just enough to slip that ruined and swollen cockhead from the depth of her. You watch as your combined fluids flow out of her onto your leg.

All that filth, a dirty combination of the two of you. Two loads of your cum drained into that one pretty pussy.

Minju is stroking a hand up your stomach, your chest, along your neck and jawline. Across your face and to your chin, so slowly, as if memorising your features.

You watch her body, so fucking perfect, flexing and trembling still and her breasts heave beneath sweat and exertion. Her breath is so ragged that a chuckle emerges between the hard, deep inhales and exhales. She's sweating, perspiration painting her body and strands of long hair matted to her head. So beautiful. Always so fucking beautiful.

She looks into your eyes, studying, thinking. "You feel better now," her voice has returned to the softness of before, low and sultry. "Don't you?"

With a smile, your hands move again, wandering further up. They snake their way around her slender waist. There's something strange, something new, about how they explore her—before, you were quick to set them and demand control. But not now. Now, it's tender and grateful and you have a slow, searching rhythm to the touches that skim the skin across her skin. 

"Yeah." It's honest. You do. She has done her magic, she has restored the balance, and the release has cleared a space within the self, within the mind. You stare back into her gaze, "thank you."

"No." Minju brings her head forward, her face almost colliding with yours. "Thank you. This is exactly what I needed, I really—" She bites down on her lips and hesitates. She pauses for a second before she begins to move herself off you. Standing up straight, wobbling for a moment on the spot before stepping off and the sticky remains of your fucking cling to her inner thighs, glistening on the flesh, thick and trailing down from her hole.

She stares at you for a moment in some profound silence. You sit on the couch, on that musty old fabric, fully spent and staring. She's searching for something, eyes drifting over the room until it catches her eye, and she heads right for it.

You find the strength to stand and as you do, you’re still watching the sway of her body—noticing each bounce of her perfectly formed butt. Your eyes linger, appreciating the body that was given to you, enjoyed by you, and that gave so much to you. Your strength slowly builds from within, your legs are sore, your stomach and core are aching, your lungs feel crushed.

She's fumbling around on the table for something, she's leaning over slightly, her thighs pressed together. She wears sex like a crown—the pride, confidence, and accomplishment manifesting in her natural glow. Minju radiates. There's always something so electric about a woman in the post coital haze.

"You smoke?" she asks.

"No."

"You should," she says as she turns, fishing one out of the pack and perching herself on the edge of the table, crossing over her legs. "Makes you less nervous. You might need it."

There's an elegance in the way she slips the filter between her lips. An attractiveness in the casual way that she places the box down. With practiced poise, she flicks her wrist with lighter in hand so it flips open and her thumb runs against the sparkwheel. Once, twice, and on the third go the light takes and the flame holds steady. Minju lights the end of the cigarette and leans in, taking a deep draw and holding it.

It's mesmerising to watch. The way her mouth closes around the stick, how the soft glow dances upon her features. A darkness in the hollows of her cheeks as the smoke fills within, while she flicks the lighter back closed and slides it on the table.

Minju tilts her head back as her lungs empty, billows and tendrils escape into the room.

In the silence, you've had some realisation.

Minju is cool.

Like— really cool.

So you stand naked, facing her, in the breakroom of the bar she... works in? Owns? Hell, you don't even know that. Doesn't matter. And you finally ask her, "how do you know Wonyoung?"

For a long moment she just smiles, blowing smoke towards you, teasing with silence.

"We go way back," she says, and that is hardly the complete answer that you've hoped for. 

Eventually, she offers more. "High school. We were friends." Minju studies the cigarette, eyeing the burning stub. "Guess you could say we were closer than that. Fuck. If not for—"

Silence.

And yet you wait.

"Well, there was this boy," she continues eventually, offering a soft and resigned smile. "My crush, and then my boyfriend. He was my first. First kiss, first date. First—" Minju looks over to the wall and inhales hard on the cigarette again. She breathes in slowly and you watch the small ember dance, the edges turning amber and glowing bright before she brings the cigarette down and flicks ash in the tray.

"What happened?" you ask, taking a seat alongside her on the table, pushing a cup aside to make space. It's not exactly hygienic, but nothing the two of you just did was.

"Wonyoung happened. Right before we left school, he left me for her and he thought he had a chance, but, well, you know Wonyoung. She's unattainable."

"You blame her?"

"Fuck no. But it didn't exactly bring us closer. He left me for her, she rejected him. What a mess."

There is always something when Wonyoung is in the picture, a messy little tangled web, something hidden behind those silky smiles. She's the reason for many lost loves and many lonely nights. You take a pause to appreciate that fact—to see what's really at the core. She’s the common denominator. Wonyoung—the arrogant heartbreaker.

"So what was all that about? On the phone?" you ask, trying to make some sense of it all.

Minju laughs aloud, tilting her head back and blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. She holds her cigarette between her slim fingers and rests her other hand on your thigh. "I wanted to play with her a little. I wanted her to know. Because well, and no offense, but you’re one of her possessions. She basically owns you. Don't get me wrong, it's kinda hot, but I wanted to see how she would react."

"So you teased her."

"Pretty much."

She laughs a little. There is some spark in her eye, born out of childish fun.

"Don't think she cares," you shrug.

You both turn toward the door that leads back into the bar. You both heard it. Out there. The knock against the front door of the bar.

Minju turns to you, crushing her cigarette into the ashtray beside her. There's a smirk on her lips and amusement in her eyes. In that look alone, there's a lot to unpack; there's an air of knowing, a glimmer of deviousness, and something else lurking beneath the surface.

"Then why is she knocking on the door?"

#minju smut #minju x reader #izone smut #kim minju smut #kpop smut #male reader #m reader #wonyoung smut

[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.

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

[blueiskewl]

Coin reveals little-known Roman ruler

Treasure hunters have unearthed a coin bearing the head of a virtually unknown Roman ruler who briefly held power in Gaul around A.D. 270 as the empire teetered.

It is only the second coin ever found showing the head of Domitianus, who seized power — and the mint — in the breakaway Gallic Empire, which included modern England, France and parts of Germany and lasted for 15 turbulent years.

“We know next to nothing about Domitianus, except that he was ‘punished’ by the Roman Emperor Aurelian for treason,” Richard Abdy, curator of Roman coins at the British Museum, told Reuters. “But at least now we know what he looked like.”

Studied by coin experts

The first coin bearing Domitianus’ head was found in the Loire area of France in 1900, dismissed as a fake because his name was unknown and then lost from sight in a small museum in Nantes until very recently.

“It is now being studied by numismatists. When I showed our coin to the woman who has been working on it she jumped for joy because it bore out everything she had said about hers,” Abdy said, noting the French coin had been dated to A.D. 271.

The Gallic Empire was established in 260, when rule from Rome was weakening, by Postumus. He was succeeded nine years later by Marius, who held the throne for a matter of weeks before being strangled and in turn replaced by Victorinus, who ruled until 271 when he too was murdered.

Domitianus is believed to have murdered Victorinus, who had a habit of raping the wives of his subordinates, before himself being ousted by Tetricus. Tetricus ruled from 271 to 274, when he was defeated by Aurelian and the empire was restored.

Found on farmland

The British coin, which goes on show at the British Museum starting Wednesday, was found on farmland near Oxford just under a year ago as part of a hoard of 5,000 Roman coins fused together in an earthenware pot.

“It is a type of coin we know as a ‘radiant’ because there are rays radiating from his head. It is a two-denarii piece, which at that time, when they were coining money as fast as they could, would have been worth a couple of hours’ work,” Abdy said.

The base metal coin, which originally had a surface coating of silver, is now conservatively estimated to be worth a five-figure sum, Abdy said.

At the time it was minted, the once-mighty Roman Empire was undergoing a period of intense flux.

The years between 270 and 285 were marked by chaos in the empire, with more than 20 different emperors and 30 different pretenders fighting for power. Only one of these leaders died a natural death.

By Jeremy Lovell.

Original posted Feb. 24, 2004.

The Coin Hoard

Until this discovery was made some scholars doubted the historical significance of Domitianus who is named just twice in the historical sources. The Oxfordshire coin provides archaeological evidence suggesting that he successfully proclaimed himself emperor of a breakaway part of the Roman Empire during the reign of Aurelian (AD 270-5).

Richard Abdy (Curator of Roman coins at the British Museum) said that ‘during the 270s AD the fabric of the Roman Empire had become strained. Breakaway empires, like the so-called ‘Gallic Empire’ that included Britain, were established and ruled by a succession of rebel emperors. Finding a coin produced in the name of Domitianus means that he should now be recognised as one such rebel emperor.’

The failure of Roman writers to identify him as a rebel emperor even led the only other coin of Domitianus – found in France in 1900 – to be dismissed as a modern fake. The new discovery was struck from the same dies that were used to produce this earlier find and has therefore put its authenticity beyond any doubt.

Ian Leins (Finds Adviser, Iron Age and Roman coins, Portable Antiquities Scheme) said ‘the portrait on the new coin very closely resembles that of the rebel emperors Victorinus and Tetricus. It is highly possible that other coins of Domitianus exist in the collections of museums and individuals but have escaped detection. It is important that people start to pay more attention to these often neglected finds and record them with their local Finds Liaison Officer.’

#Coin reveals little-known Roman ruler #coins #collectable coins #roman coins #rebel emperor #Domitianus #Gaul #Gallic Empire #Aurelian #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman emperor

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not believing my friends new boyfriends "backstory"

I 20(F) am very close friends with a girl (20F) who we will call Alex. Alex recently got out of a really bad relationship with someone our age, and jumped very quickly into a new relationship with a man 14 years older than her, who we will call Ben. Alex and Ben are in the same community college class, and have known each other for 2 years as friends.

I have never actually met Ben. I am at a college several hours away and Alex is one of those people who like to keep friends she's made in different parts of her life separate from each other, like school friends all know each other but don't mix with collage friends, who don't mix with work friends etc. She says it's an autism thing but idk. She doesn't do this this romantic partners tho, she introduces them to all her friends and she's keen for me and Ben to meet now.

Recently, Alex has been telling me more about Ben, all the normal relationship stuff you'll tell your friends. He seems to be a lot better than her previous partner, but the bar is in hell, so it's not difficult to be a better partner (or person) than the previous guy. But idk a lot of the stories about his life she's told sound very far fetched? Like not impossible but more likely to happen in a soap opera than real life, you know?

The story that pushed me over the edge into complete scepticism was that apparently Ben had been online dating someone for several years who died unexpectedly, and their mother took over their computer after their death and pretended to be them for over a year until the mother died and lawyers involved in her will contacted Ben, and the mothers plot was revealed.

Now... that might not be impossible, but I'm smelling bullshit. When i have online dated before, we've spoken on voice chats, and on facetime, via Snapchats etc - did none of that happen for over a year? No new photos in over a year? Was this mother faking to all their mutual friends - some of which were IRL apparently- too or were they all in on it? Also, who is this mother who can perfectly copy her child's texting style, so much so that their long term partner didn't see a change? I know my mother and I text very differently, and the evil mother in this story was have been in her late 50s at the time, so I highly doubt that she and her mid-twenties child just so happened to text exactly the same way. Alex says Ben is rly into memes and meme culture too, and I really really doubt that a late 50s mother - grieving mother no less - is just going to instantly understand meme culture to the point where he wouldn't notice that his "partner" was behaving differently. Also, a lawyer is not going to an Internet boyfriend first when dealing with wills. They just arent. The whole thing sounds either fake, extremely exaggerated.

Alex did not take it well when I (gently) tried to point out the weird bits in this story. She got very defensive and claimed I was judging Ben just based on his age and looking for something to be upset about, and that I'm disrespecting his trauma by being sceptical. She said that because I've never met him I'm projecting bad vibes towards him based on my own assumptions. Idk maybe she's right and I'm being unkind AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[sunlit-haruka]

Arturo's talent confuses me a lot

Okay so on this fine 12:30 PM I was thinking about the newest QnA, and how DRDTDev said this in it

And it was always something that intrigued me a lot because I really could not figure out what it meant or why the exact ages of the cast were kept hidden. That is, until I started thinking about everyone's favorite(...?) Ultimate Plastic Surgeon, Arturo Giles. Specifically, his talent in question. Because to put it bluntly: How in the everliving FUCK is Arturo a Plastic Surgeon at his age Now you might wonder just what I mean by that, and as such let me run you down the requirements to be a plastic surgeon in the US from what I have researched:

Now obviously these are only three sources, and this is mainly referring to the US because that is where DRDT takes place, but the point still stands. For Arturo to become a licensed plastic surgeon, he would have to go through a six year program/residency for plastic surgery, obtain a bachelor's degree (or I guess whatever Hope's Peak's version of a bachelors degree is) which is canonically a four-year university in the DRDTverse, as WELL as an extra four years in medical school.

(Now fair warning, I am not the best when it comes to reading comprehension, so there might be some things in the screenshots I linked that I ultimately missed. And if so, you're allowed to (politely) point it out to me !) Even if there are a few things I misread, it still brings into question how Arturo obtained his talent when you look at his possible age Now obviously, as I mentioned before, the DT cast's actual age is a spoiler. But that doesn't mean we can't speculate based on the information we do have from the series

(A challenger has approached: Min Jeung /j) This line from the first bonus episode is the closest thing we get to a clear-cut age for the DT cast, where Unnamed Classmate / Mai says that Min is 18. Unfortunate jinxing aside, this also brings back up the fact that Hope's Peak in the DTverse is a four-year university course akin to US college (I'll actually include a screenshot this time)

So it can be assumed that this bonus episode (and I assume Xander's), takes place during their first year at Hope's Peak, and assuming that the rest of the cast is the same age they were all 18-19 during their first year. But that isn't all ! As remember, these guys have their HPA memories snatched from them, so let's cover that as well

Now, we don't know how long "a few years" could be. It could be only one year like Rose said initially, it could be two, three, hell ten for all we know. However, Min (as posted before) and Xander don't seem to have aged that much in comparison to their current appearences. So I'm going to assume (keyword here, assume) that about three years at most have been taken from them. as that would put them largely around the end of HPA. So with all of this in mind, that would mean that Arturo is around 19-22 during the events of the death game, but even with that considered, that still means that Arturo was scouted and given the title of Ultimate Plastic Surgeon at 18. And that is where my confusion lies since that...is basically impossible DRDT-Dev has clearly thoroughly researched all of the talents of the cast and how they work in the DTverse and in general seems to be very intricate when it comes to their writing, so I highly doubt they would make an oversight like this. There has got to be a reasoning for this. And I can think of three possible ones 1. Arturo is some kind of prodigy in the medical and cosmetic surgery field which could've led to him becoming a plastic surgeon much earlier in life than one typically would 2. Arturo is just straightup lying about his ultimate talent for whatever reason, possibly fabricating the license on his coat. He's obviously not faking his medical knowledge as we've seen in the actual series, but him faking his ultimate isn't exactly ruled out 3. The DRDT cast are much older then we or they realize, and there is another reason why they still look to be in their early 20s (I swear to god if this turns out to be some virtual world shit I am actually going to go insane /lh)

...Or the 4th reason that being I AM looking too deep into this, but whatever it's fun to overanalyze this shit Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear other people's opinions on this !

#haru chats about drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt #fanganronpa #arturo giles #drdt arturo #I did not expect my first somewhat analysis post in months to be about Arturo of all characters but eh expect the unexpected

[water9826]

Cursed Guardians (A JJK Fic)

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For something that was supposed to be prohibited or off limits, Suguru had always found entering the catacombs the easiest task in the world. Jujutsu sorcerers were so spread thin that the school could only spare a measly five guards to protect Master Tengen, the sole being responsible for the barriers protecting the human world from the jujutsu world. This left everything else unguarded, including the catacombs, which held some of the most infamous texts in jujutsu. Information that can easily be used against them. 

To make up for the lack of guards, there were several illusionary buildings across the Tokyo and Kyoto campuses. In Tokyo, the number of fake buildings had drastically increased after the incident with Toji Fushiguro. Besides the misleading structures, talismans and other protective seals had been placed on the entrances to important areas. Most sorcerers could not break the seals, but Suguru was not like most sorcerers. 

With a flick of his hand, the bindings covering the wide entrance of the catacombs were cut to ribbons by one of the many curses Suguru had under his control. 

Unlike Satoru, Suguru knew how to remain undetected. The higher ups still had no leads as to who had been regularly breaking the seals to the catacombs for the past two years. It was a feat Suguru was quite proud of. He had used his plethora of curses to shred the seals, before promptly killing it. By doing this, Suguru made the elders think that a random curse had tried entering the catacombs, only for the curse to be exorcized by the powerful seals it had broken. The cursed energy signals were enough for the higher ups to not bat an eye at the recurring incidents. It was fitting. When given the choice, the elders would rather focus all their attention on whatever bothered them than anything that could pose an actual threat to the jujutsu world. The catacombs were not a priority for the elders whatsoever, but Suguru could not be upset by that. Afterall, the neglect of the catacombs were what allowed him to enter it many, many times.

This time was no different. 

“I always forget how musty this place is.” Suguru clamped a hand over his nose as he descended the carved, stone staircase. While it wasn’t a disgusting smell by any means, it still made the teen shudder and feel nauseous. He had a feeling as to what the scent originated from.

Death. 

Suguru was well acquainted with death, considering his line of work. Death did not smell revolting or vile. No. That was the smell of decomposition. Death itself smelled, with lack of a better term, heavy . It was a scent that had a presence to it. Similar to the cleansing, peaceful presence the air has after a storm. It was a scent that made Suguru’s chest tighten and throat close up. There was a barely detectable earthy note to death. It was subtle, but it was enough that Suguru had memorized the distinct smell. It smelt of ancient waters and aging moss. He imagined it smelt of the section of a forest that many find by accident. It’s untouched by man and animal. The clearing is small, only having a small pond and few trees. While the ground is covered by leaves, all the trees are left barren. There is the smallest flow to the pond, causing the leaves on the surface of the murky water to sway back and forth. It was the loneliest part of the woods.

The scent of death permeated every crevice of the catacombs. There was no doubt in Suguru’s mind that these underground tunnels were also used to bury the many corpses of his fellow sorcerers. Jujutsu sorcerers have existed for centuries, so it was highly likely that this labyrinth was also a makeshift gravesite at some point. Suguru did not let that knowledge bother him. He clenched his fists as he continued his journey downwards. 

To light the way, Suguru had summoned several jellyfish-like curses that acted as tiny flashlights. No one was meant to be down here, so it didn’t surprise Suguru that not a single torch along the walls of the caverns had been lit. 

Despite the many tunnels appearing as he got lower and lower, he paid them no mind. As he journeyed further, the stairs became more cracked and weathered. The first time Suguru had ventured here, he had nearly cracked his skull open due to a massive hole in the stairway. Now, Suguru simply summoned a curse with tree-like roots and walked across the pit without issue. Once Suguru spotted the last steps of the winding staircase, he breathed a sigh of relief. His forehead felt sweaty and his body felt quite sore. Considering he had been unconscious for several days, he knew that it was a foolish idea to strain his body in such a way. Suguru could not be bothered to care. 

Finally, his feet met with the floor of the lowest level, the true catacombs. Suguru had to stick his nose into his elbow to breathe in the scent of his shirt. At such a deep level, it was hard to breathe on principle. The smell of dust only served to make things worse. The faint smell of detergent helped Suguru’s chest loosen. After a few moments of adjusting, Suguru raised his head and made his way to the many rotting bookshelves before him. In the years prior, Suguru had taken the time to make a small reading area for himself. In addition, the black-haired boy used his curses to help gather books Suguru found interesting. He had purposely kept his friends out of this hobby of his. While it would be exponentially easier to travel to the catacombs with the help of Satoru’s teleportation abilities, Suguru wanted to keep this place to himself. Shoko and Satoru had never been the studious types, so he knew they would get bored quickly in a pseudo-library like this. 

He made a beeline to his personalized corner in the back of the area. The lowest level was full of dusty books and scrolls, nothing else. It was quite smaller than the upper levels Suguru had explored. Even so, it was still a sizable place. Suguru effortlessly made his way through the many winding paths and bookshelves. Once he spotted his corner, Suguru smiled. 

It only had a large blanket, a futon, several candles, and one pillow. Next to the sitting area was a neatly stacked pile of books. Suguru plopped onto the futon, not bothering to dust it off with how exhausted his body was. He summoned a tiny flame with the help of a curse that resembled a hybrid of a rock and salamander. He lit the largest candle, sighing in contentment once the smell of vanilla and lavender reached his nose. Suguru made sure to place the lit candle in a place that would not pose a threat to the many flammable objects around him. 

Suguru used the elastic band on his wrist to tie his long hair in a messy bun. It was the longest it's ever been, but Suguru enjoyed the look much more than his previous hair style. With his hair out of his face, Suguru sorted through the books until he found the one was looking for. 

THE FORGOTTEN HUMANS: CURSED SOULS

By: Itadori Kaori

A sudden shiver overtook Suguru’s body. Now that he had faces to the creatures he thought were nothing but myth, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. When he had read the book the first time, he thought it was an intriguing story, perhaps theory. He did not think much of it. He didn’t think much of the author either. Suguru had thought that the author was just an eccentric sorcerer with too much time on her hands. Considering the apparent truth to her words, Suguru knew he needed to do research on Itadori Kaori. He had never heard of her before, and he had found it strange for such a modern textbook to find its way in an abandoned labyrinth. At the time, he thought it had been placed by the higher ups due to its possibly ludicrous texts. The elders had always censored the textbooks Suguru and his other peers used heavily. It made sense that such a controversial book would be dumped here. 

The more he thought about it, the more strange the book’s existence became. Suguru shook his head harshly. He had a purpose for being here. He can’t be sitting for hours trying to solve a mystery he had no knowledge on. Satoru needed him. If Kaori Itadori had anything that could be useful in helping Satoru, Suguru could care less who she was. 

Maybe he could multitask. 

Suguru summoned a ghostly owl that towered over him, awaiting orders. “Find any texts written by Itadori Kaori or anything relating to cursed souls. If there isn’t either, try to find anything that has pictures of these creatures.” The teen transferred the images of the six creatures to his owl helper. He had absorbed the curse during his first year. It was a curse that had been spotted in the remnants of a burnt library, already having killed seven people who ventured into the remains. It was a clever curse despite being a grade three. He knew that if there were any curses who were fit for the job, it was this owl cursed spirit. “Bring me whatever you find.” With that, he sent the curse on its way. 

He sincerely hoped this strange woman had answers. 

“Please have something.” Suguru whispered underneath his breath. He made his jellyfish curses gather close so he could see in the dark room. As he opened the textbook, he immediately went to the table of contents. Once he found the most useful pages, he flipped to them. 

He was greeted by a crude drawing of the six entities he had encountered that fateful night. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Suguru began to read. 

Throughout all of human history, there seems to be a common phenomenon shared by all eras and civilizations. A cave painting (pictured on the upper left) depicts the outlines of six unknown creatures. This painting has been dated to be more than 40,000 years old. These creatures share no resemblance to the animals observed in previously discovered cave paintings. What’s more, these six entities share no resemblance to any animal, extinct or not. This could be seen as a creative drawing of our ancestors and nothing more if it wasn’t for the fact that there are repeated instances of these creatures appearing in paintings across the world.

For instance, a painting from a temple belonging to a young pharaoh in ancient Egypt (pictured on the bottom right) was discovered. The name of the pharaoh has been lost to time, but the paintings along the walls of his tomb depict two of the creatures beside Anubis, the Egyptian god of the dead and afterlife. The appearance of the creatures from a cave painting to a painting in a pharaoh's tomb shows that there is significance to these strange beings. Moreover, one of the creatures, a canine with the skull of another creature atop its head, is drawn next to the pharaoh. The pharaoh is seen petting the head of the entity with a smile. The second creature, a dragon with the beak of a bird, is seen behind Anubis, towering over the god. For a revered god like Anubis being overshadowed by an unknown creature, there is a likelihood that these creatures could have been worshiped in a similar regard as to the more well-known Egyptian gods. 

Suguru felt like throwing up. It should be impossible! That damn shrieking bird is NOT in that painting! Cursed souls cannot be that old! He began flipping through the chapter frantically. 

Sculptures of a woman with roses and spikes have been found alongside the sculptures of the Greek goddess Athena-

Norse mythology depicts a creature made of shadows meant to punish those who it deems malevolent-

Carvings of a cat with spikes have been seen in a multitude of Aztec temples- 

“What the fuck?!” Suguru yelled at the book. He had completely forgotten about the timeline that the author had written to show how the group of entities had been depicted over the past several centuries. When he had read it the first time, he had glossed over most of the details. He wants to slap his younger self for being so ignorant. Quickly, he went back to the table of contents and scanned through the many chapters until he found the section centered around the origins and myths of the creatures. 

Suguru was quick to notice the change in the author’s tone. Instead of a neutral, analytical approach, Kaori Itadori wrote with an almost unhinged passion. It was clear that she was writing with her personal feelings instead of using a more educational approach. It became slightly unsettling for Suguru. It truly felt like this woman was speaking to Suguru like he was an old friend, rambling on about her theories as if she was next to him.

These beasts make the oldest of recorded curses seem like newborns in comparison. Their appearance and descriptions over the past several centuries match those of a curse much more than anything natural to this world. However, there is one notable fact that must not be forgotten. Curses have only been able to appear in Japan. There are no other records of curses appearing in other countries or continents. This is due to Master Tengen’s barrier technique. However, the existence of these six beings precedes the existence of Master Tengen. It should be impossible for such a thing to occur. And it is impossible! The six creatures are not curses, but something else entirely!

Curses are born from human emotions. In the stone ages, there were not enough people to create such negativity. Back then, early humans were solely focused on survival. There was not any room to stew in one’s regrets or sadness. Thus, curses did not exist in such times! But these creatures did! It’s marvelous! Delightfully interesting! I’ve taken it upon myself to study the existence of these beings! I’ve named them Cursed Souls!

Based on accounts from the jujutsu sorcerers of the past, these entities exhibited very notable abilities and behaviors. They are not supposed to be on this Earth, yet they are! In straight defiance to the natural order! It’s so exciting!

I believe that they are remnants of a world long forgotten. Souls of people that were not allowed to move on, cursed to roam the lands until they find what will bring them eternal peace. It’s well known that many curses are manifested from the result of a person or sorcerer dying with too many regrets. The connection between death and curses cannot be ignored! Cursed souls are the perfect amalgamation of cursed energy and death. A being of indescribable power being birthed from a death of indescribable agony! It’s inspirational! These beings, based on the many depictions of them throughout ancient times, were revered as gods. The soul has always been an anomaly for us sorcerers to understand. It is not out of the realm of possibilities to say that these souls are from a different time entirely. Perhaps the souls of today originated from the world the cursed souls are from. We are the finalized version of the rough draft the world had to go through to become what it is today. 

The techniques each cursed soul has further proves this theory. Cursed techniques are often hereditary. The most powerful clans are quite protective of their techniques and refuse to have their clan members ‘mix’ with others. In spite of this, the revered power of the Six-Eyes and Limitless technique is held by one of these cursed souls based on reports. It’s a supposedly impossible feat. How can such a creature have such a sacred technique? The answer is simple! The creature's soul originates from the Gojo clan! An innate technique like Limitless cannot appear out of nowhere, it must be passed down through genetics. One way or another, whoever the soul belonged to was a member of the Gojo clan. Like a flower regrowing after a fire. Even if the flower was burnt to a crisp, the roots remained and were able to regrow from the destruction. Cursed souls are the flowers that were destroyed in a fire, only to emerge again, stronger, from, the ashes. Sorcerers today are the seeds that were dispersed before the fire began. Away from the destruction, but still originating from the flower that got burned. 

Though, there is the possibility that there is an even bigger picture I am missing! The intrigue of cursed souls never ends! 

Suguru sincerely wished it did. His head began to pound as Suguru tried to remember what the infuriating bird demon-cursed soul-thing showed him. It was like he wasn’t allowed to remember. Each time he tried to, a white fog would cloud his mind. The author’s ramblings were giving Suguru some much needed insight, but he needed more. 

The cursed soul with that damned beak and tail did something to Satoru’s head. 

As the teen went to rub his temples, he heard the clacking of talons against the rough floor. The owl curse had appeared with several scrolls in its beak. Suguru felt himself smile at the additional information. “Thank you.” Once he took the scrolls from the wispy owl, it ran off to further investigate the catacombs. Suguru was relieved that there was more information on cursed souls than he thought. After placing the old scrolls next to him, Suguru went back to the increasingly distressing book. He flipped a few pages until he found the mythological section. It seemed this part was entirely based on Japanese mythology of the Heian Era. 

The Golden Age of Jujutsu was a time that is remembered by all, fondly or not. In such an era, it would seem obvious that there would be countless reports of these six beings. However, this is not the case. There are only three known reports of cursed souls, all of which occurred during the Heian Era. There have been no sightings or records of these creatures ever since.

Suguru glanced at the three largest scrolls of the bunch. Out of all the books and scrolls he had read in the catacombs, this was by far the oldest piece of literature Suguru had ever found. Carefully placing the more modern textbook on the blanket, Suguru picked up a random scroll of the three. He unraveled it slowly and used two of his jellyfish curses to hold down the edges. It revealed a stained paper with kanji Suguru could barely read. He had once studied ancient Japanese, but was by no means fluent in it.

Brownish-red stains littered the paper, and Suguru was trying his hardest not to think of the implications of having dried blood on a centuries old scroll. 

From what he could read, it seemed to be a report from a healer in the Kamo Clan. 

PATIENT: Kamo Inoko

Inoko’s brother, Kamo Butaro, described that an unregistered special grade attacked his sister during a mission. Both had been sent to exorcize a grade two curse that had been causing trouble for farmers with peach orchards. These are the details Butaro has shared about the mission. Apparently, farmers in the nearby area reported that many of their trees appeared to have been slashed by something with claws. They can no longer enter the orchard without being killed, and a portion of their peaches are being stolen each day. When one farmer tried to collect a basket of peaches, he was found later that night with several holes through his body and a mauled face. The curse was only targeting peach orchards. All other fruit or vegetable farms were left unharmed. One farmer reported that he had an apple and peach orchard, yet the apple orchard had remained intact. 

After hearing the complaints of the farmers, the sorcerer took the case and assigned it to Butaro and Inoko. Upon entering the peach orchard that had been the first to be targeted, both sorcerers felt a presence of a curse much stronger than a grade two. After ten minutes of being inside the orchard, Inoko tried picking up a peach that had fallen onto the ground. The moment her hand made contact, a beam of blood was shot at her hand, slicing it off. It resembled the Piercing Blood manipulation technique of their clan, but it was clearly stronger than both Kamo sorcerer’s own techniques. Butaro stated that the beam of blood was sharp enough to cut not only his sister’s hand, but some of the trees behind them. Butaro stated how he could sense the immense anger the cursed spirit had and decided to apologize. He kept apologizing as he grabbed his sister and retreated. No other attacks followed. At some point, Butaro looked back and saw the cursed spirit’s form. He said that it resembled a large cat, but it had purple fur with a black stripe on its nose. The boy also mentioned that it had several elongated spikes on its back. Each spike had a condensed sphere of blood on top, a clear use of Convergence. 

It has been two days since the attack on Inoko, and she has been put into a coma. After being pierced by the curse’s blood, Inoko soon exhibited signs of poisoning. No remedy has worked and neither has reverse cursed technique. Poisons have always been difficult to heal, so the only treatment option available is to treat Inoko’s symptoms and pray that her body can flush out the poison on its own. 

When first grade sorcerer Hayashi Daichi and special grade sorcerer Gojo Suki arrived on the scene, the cursed spirit had vanished. The only residual that remained was the blood spattered on the peach Inoko had held. 

Suguru had a feeling that the girl hadn’t recovered. Besides the draconic entity, the cat had boggled Suguru’s mind. With how viscously protective the cat was over the infant, he had no doubts that the cat would eliminate any threats to his ward without mercy. The only reason that Suguru could come up with as to why the cat had targeted peach orchards was the color. Even if it was brief, Suguru couldn’t forget the peachy pink of the baby’s hair. Suguru had seen curses obsess over certain things, often the last thing on their mind. It would become where the curse was most frequently spotted at. It could also become the garbled word the curse repeats endlessly. Curses have always been obsessive. A cursed soul was likely to be the same in some regard. 

The other two scrolls were similar reports from healers. While the second described a list of casualties at the hands of the cursed soul with spotted wrappings and the cursed soul with roses and nails, the third was a report of the erratic symptoms of a sorcerer after being hit by an unknown curse. The symptoms were familiar to Suguru. And concerning.

Patient has become incredibly hostile and aggressive. 

Patient exhibits signs of being in intense psychological distress. 

Patient unable to answer basic questions like where they are and what their name is. 

Patient has become increasingly delirious and refuses to eat or drink. 

Patient speaks of being chased and in danger. 

Patient must be restrained at all times. 

Patient shows no signs of improving no matter what treatment.

He felt his breath get stuck in his throat as he scanned the very bottom of the parchment. 

Elders sentenced patient to death after five months of no improvement. 

“Those worthless pieces of shit.” He snarled. Suguru clenched the weathered paper in his hands, uncaring of the damage he was causing to the ancient scroll. Of course the elders back then would be just as cowardly as the elders they had now. The symptoms of aggression and psychological distress matched what Nanami described. Satoru had attacked Nanami and would have attacked Suguru if the blonde hadn’t intervened. He remembered how terrified Satoru had been when he was under that strange trance that fateful night. If Satoru gets worse, the elders would surely try to execute him after labeling Satoru a danger to jujutsu society. 

Suguru felt like throwing up. How the hell was he supposed to heal Satoru if the healers of the past couldn’t do anything?!

The texts were not as useful as Suguru thought. They held no answers! He tugged harshly at his hair in pure frustration. Those were the only reports that existed of the damned things! Suguru bit his lip to keep himself from screaming. He felt his anger surge and did everything possible to get it under control. It doesn’t matter how skilled a sorcerer or healer is, cursed souls were simply on another level of strength apparently. They had no way to defeat them, the only reason the world is still standing is because these creatures were somewhat indifferent to humanity. There were no other reports of attacks, which was a relief, but it was a pain for Suguru. They only got aggressive when Suguru, Satoru, and Nanami seemingly threatened the child. It still made no sense as to why the monstrous entities would go so far just to protect a random baby-

Yuuji is special. Not just special to me. Special to the world. He is the very reason this world exists. Do anything to harm him, and your world will crumble. Though, he won’t be the one to destroy the world. He is the kindest soul in existence. I and the other guardians will be the source of your downfall. You don’t hurt him, and I don’t hurt you. 

Itadori Yuuji must be protected at all costs. He is the core of this world’s continued existence. Never forget that.

The scroll dropped from Suguru’s hands with a loud clatter. 

That was the voice of that horrid bird. He gripped at his head as it throbbed. Suguru now realized why he could not remember the conversation he had with the entity. He wasn’t allowed to remember until it was actually necessary. Like a locked gate only having a key on certain occasions, but the occasion was at random. Suguru had no idea what to cause a memory to come back, it just would. 

Hm . 

Itadori Yuuji . 

Suguru went to grab the textbook by the author of the strange textbook. Having the same last name could be a coincidence, but something inside Suguru was urging him to not disregard the oddity. He flipped back to where he left off in the textbook. The knowledge of the author and the importance of the baby were a mystery Suguru itched to solve. 

But he couldn’t solve it without Satoru. 

He wanted to kick himself over the head at getting distracted so easily. Had he become so selfish that he would put aside his best friends suffering for his own curiosities? He had gotten too accustomed to being in his thoughts for days on end. Facing the result of his self imposed isolation made Suguru feel shame pool in his gut. He had pushed Satoru away and was now suffering for it by being useless in helping his closest friend.

Being strong was something Suguru was familiar with. Helping others was also something Suguru had mastered at a young age. He was always the one to lend a helping hand without thought. Yet when his friend needed him the most, Suguru couldn’t lift a finger. Just wallow in his regrets and self-pity. Satoru had always been there for him, in the limitless user’s own unique way. Whether it was making Suguru laugh until he cried or refusing to sleep for days just to protect an innocent girl, Satoru had a kindness that Suguru lacked. Satoru was genuine in his care for others. 

Of course, Satoru could be the most annoying person on the planet, but that was not who he truly was. His cheery and often arrogant disposition was a facade that Suguru had seen through immediately. Yet, he had done nothing to rectify that. Satoru would allow Yaga, Shoko, or even Suguru himself to hit him. While the annoyed pushes or smacks to the head were definitely warranted, the fact that Satoru would consciously deactivate his Infinity for their hits to make contact stuck with Suguru. If Satoru was as cocky as he makes himself appear, then he would have never allowed them to touch him. But he did. Satoru would be the energetic one with a cheeky grin because no one else could keep a smile on their face. A smile that wasn’t fake like Suguru’s. On the roughest of days, Satoru would still be bright, something that used to annoy Suguru. When they had first gotten to know each other, Suguru had thought that Satoru’s blatant disregard for others was the boy’s true feelings. Satoru would complain about how the weak were so annoying, but would still go out of his way to make sure his missions had as little casualties as possible. He would get genuinely upset if one person got severely injured or died. It was a given that people would die in their line of work, but Satoru ignored that. Suguru had accepted it. He had thought Satoru’s want for there to be no casualties was irritating when they went on missions together. At first, Suguru had thought it was Satoru’s attempt to be better than everyone. It wasn’t. The few times that Suguru had seen Satoru’s front disappear were the times where Suguru realized how good Satoru really was. He wanted to be the strongest sorcerer and stop people from dying to curses, but was so terrified of failing that he pretended that he wasn’t human at all more often than not. Satoru felt like a weapon, not a god. He would say he had to be perfect, but Suguru had seen the tears in his crystal blue eyes whenever Satoru said it. Satoru would melt whenever Suguru touched him, as if it was the last piece of affection he would ever receive. Satoru let Suguru cry into his shoulder whenever he needed and would refuse to leave his room whenever Suguru had a nightmare. Suguru had tried to do the same, but it was never enough. Even though Satoru had never said anything about Suguru’s attempts at comfort, Suguru felt like Satoru deserved so much better. 

Beneath the glasses and the many, many walls that made up Gojo Satoru, there was a boy that was desperate to be human. That was desperate to be loved and seen as a human. So desperate to be held and praised.

 Satoru was the brightest star in Suguru’s galaxy. 

There was not any other way to put it. Suguru held a darkness within him that could only be held off by Satoru’s light. Even though Suguru had to remind Satoru of being polite and kind, he knew deep down that Satoru already was. Satoru was respectful and compassionate to those he thought deserved it. Suguru was courteous to all because that was how he was raised. The mannerisms had been carved so deeply into Suguru’s psyche that the teen was not sure what he truly believed. 

He was only who his parents and teachers sculpted him into. All of his decisions were based on the teaching drilled into him as a child. His personality often didn’t feel like his own. 

The first time that Suguru knew what he truly felt was when he had seen Satoru holding Riko’s corpse while hundreds of people applauded. It was a burning hatred that seared into his soul. Suguru had left behind all of those teachings, becoming an empty husk with no sense of who he was and what to do. Eventually, the words he shared with Tsukumo Yuki ignited something within him. He had been determined to see his plans to the bitter end, but a damned phone call changed everything. 

Suguru was doubting himself like never before. Were his only genuine feelings just hatred and anger for non-sorcerers? Was that all he was without the teachings of his elders to guide him? 

Could he even help Satoru?

“I don’t know anything.” Suguru put the scrolls and books away to wrap his arms around his knees. For the first time since Riko’s death, Suguru felt well and truly lost. There were too many things happening at once, and Suguru felt paralyzed by it all. Cursed souls exist. He needed to investigate Itadori Kaori. Sukuna was reincarnated without anyone’s knowledge. Satoru was imprisoned while his own mind tortured him. Itadori Yuuji was apparently another vital piece of the puzzle, and Suguru had no idea who he was. The world could crumble at any moment if something happens to that boy. 

A loud clatter broke Suguru out of his spiraling thoughts. 

Before him was a large scroll wrapped with black twine. Suguru looked up and saw the owl curse staring back at him. There was a sense of finality to the scroll, meaning that the owl’s search had come to an end. In a hoarse whisper, Suguru smiled. “Thank you.” He dismissed the owl with a flick of his wrist. 

It was the largest and longest scroll Suguru had ever seen. The thick spindles that held each end of the parchment were made of brass. With great care, Suguru unwrapped the twine and unrolled the ancient paper. The weight of the spindles prevented the parchment from curling in on itself. Once the scroll was fully rolled out, which had taken a while, Suguru stared at the contents it contained. 

A grand painting that had become faded from age seemed to stand before the black-haired teen. It was in the style expected from ancient Japanese art. Six familiar figures and two additional ones had been depicted in the painting. It seemed to tell a story. At the beginning of the parchment was a man with pink hair that had been set aflame, holding a toddler that looked to be dead. The words above the painting roughly translated to ‘ The scorned had been punished.’ Suguru felt nauseous as he stared into the despair so clearly drawn into the man’s face. He could almost feel the agony the man was going through the longer he stared. Shaking his head, Suguru read to the next section of the scroll. 

The next artwork was the same man kneeling down before a monster with four arms. In the man’s bloody arms was a round orb, which would have been pink if the parchment wasn’t so aged. The large monster had tattoos all over its body, tattoos that Suguru recognized as belonging to Sukuna, the King of Death. Sukuna had become something of legend for sorcerers, believed to be gone for good. Suguru wanted to yell at the skies for the world being so unforgiving. He ignored his frustration to look at the kanji next to the painting. ‘ A deal is made with the King of Death. A soul for a soul. The king wants the body, the soul, of the scorned for the rest of time in return for saving his son’s soul. The scorned makes the deal with the disgraced .’

There was other kanji, but it was too faded for Suguru to read. From the painting alone, Suguru knew that the man had made a binding vow with Sukuna. Deals that involved souls were always binding, considering how vital the material was to a sorcerer’s very being. The next part depicted the six cursed souls that were forever ingrained into Suguru’s mind. In the center of each entity was an orb identical to the one the man had been holding, seemingly being his son’s soul. The cursed souls themselves were grouped together in an almost diamond shape. At the top, the smiling visage of the birdlike entity stared back at him. On the left side were the feline and canine-like cursed souls. On the right were the faceless shadow entity and metallic-rose entity. At the bottom, the long, spotted wrappings of the mummy-like entity acted as a frame for all. The kanji next to the cursed souls was much harder to read, as if the artist was shaking while they wrote. From what he could decipher, it read as follows:

‘The king’s assistants took the son’s soul, splitting it amongst the six of them. Each would hide a piece of the boy’s soul wherever they saw fit. The ashes and bones of the boy were scattered throughout the world as well, acting as the material the demons would use to rebuild the boy when the time was right. The only being who knew the locations of all pieces was the king’s eldest assistant, the Seer of Infinity. A demon more powerful than the king .’

“More powerful than Sukuna?” Suguru whispered to himself. The legacy that Sukuna left behind was an unforgettable one. All tales tell of the immense power Sukuna held. The armies he decimated in one blow. The countless sorcerers who fell at his claws. However, Suguru couldn’t help but look back to the man Sukuna made a deal with. There were no other accounts of this man, and Suguru has no recollection of Yaga mentioning him during lessons. Though, that wasn’t Yaga’s fault. The elders had censored the records of the Heian Era heavily.  Suguru had felt like he was trying to complete a puzzle with all the pieces missing. It made sense that people as cowardly as the higher-ups would restrict information, but the information itself seemed to be quite important. If there was an entity more powerful than Sukuna, then shouldn’t all sorcerers know about it? If there was a man who had made a binding vow with SUkuna, why hasn’t there been any mentions of him? 

What were the elders trying to hide?

The rest of the scroll looked to be purposely scratched out. Suguru felt his jaw clench so hard his teeth nearly cracked. He couldn’t read any of the Kanji, and the paintings  had been blotted out with ink. 

“Tsk. Those bastards.” Suguru summoned a curse that took the appearance of a thin carpet with tentacles. At the center of the carpet was a glowing, white light. He made the curse slip underneath the scroll, specifically where the paintings had been blotted out. With a snap of his fingers, the curse lit up. The faint outline of the paintings appeared. The teen smiled in relief. “Thank you, Satoru.”

It was the white-haired teen who had taught Suguru this trick. One time, Shoko had accidentally spilled an experimental mixture on a manga Satoru had been reading. The trio had been in Shoko’s personal lab where she studied medicines and other chemicals. The mixture had stained the manga pages quite badly, but Satoru didn’t show a hint of anger. Suguru thought it was because Satoru was rich enough to buy an entire library’s worth of manga, which was accurate. However, Satoru giggled and raised one of the stained pages in the air, making sure the blinding  lights of Shoko’s lab were aimed at the paper. Suguru and Shoko had asked what the other was doing, and Satoru motioned them to come closer. Positioning himself on the ground, Suguru saw that the page of Gojo’s manga had become legible from the fluorescent light. As long as the other boy kept the pages to the brightest angle of light, he could read them.

And so could Suguru. As he commanded the curse to move underneath the scroll, he slowly could see the full paintings. It was a slow process, having to make the curse direct its small light to reveal equally small pieces of the remaining paintings. There were three remaining paintings of the scroll. The first one was a painting of the draconic cursed soul surrounded by what looked like a galaxy of eyes. Around the painting was a cycle of sorts. The start of the cycle was a picture depicting a person making eye contact with the birdlike cursed soul. Next, the person would be marked with an eye on their forehead and collapse and hold their head in agony. Following, they would be shown graphic images to torment their minds. The two next parts of the cycle depicted the person’s hallucinations getting worse and worse. The hallucinations themselves contained a bird the most. On the second to last part of the cycle, the bird seen in the hallucinations appeared on the person’s head, pecking the eye on their forehead. The last part was the eye disappearing along with the images, the person now smiling while holding the bird close. The second painting showed a battle between an army and the man Sukuna had made a vow with. The battle was painted in six stages. First, the army arrived at the throne, which was made of bones, of the man and Sukuna. Second, the army battled the man while Sukuna watched in the shadows, smiling. Third, ten square symbols appear on the man’s hand and he is surrounded by four beams of fire, each appearing to have a different form of matter. Fourth, the charred remains of the army now burn at the man’s feet. Fifth, Sukuna appears next to the man with a hand on his shoulder. Finally, the man is sitting on the throne with the added bones of the army while Sukuna stands behind the man with his four arms ensnaring him. The third and final painting was the man and Sukuna kneeling in front of each other, with one small soul above their heads and another larger soul connecting the two. The six guardians are wrapped around them. Each one has their eyes closed in a deep slumber. 

The scroll ended with a drawing of a little boy. It was so faded that Suguru had to practically shove his head against the scroll to see the tiny sketch. The boy was in the grass with his arms wrapped around his knees, looking onto the horizon. The child is leaning against a great peach tree with the outlines of six peaches, however the outlines were not colored in, making it look like the peaches were missing or even stolen. The boy was crying, yet he had a smile, just the slightest upturn of his lips. 

There was a clear story being told, but Suguru knew it would take him hours to decipher it. From what he could gather, it was a story of pain, bloodshed, and rebirth. The last picture of the little boy by the barren peach tree made Suguru feel a deep pang of sadness. Could the boy whose soul was given to Sukuna be Itadori Yuuji? Was Yuuji the baby the cursed souls were so committed to protecting? Suguru had a strong inkling that that was the case with Yuuji. Killed too young, but unable to rest with his soul and body being split and hidden away. Forced to wait alone until he was reborn. 

Suguru thought about Riko, the girl who was supposed to be lost forever in Tengen without a say in the matter.

With care, Suguru rerolled the scroll and tied the twine around it once more. He knelt by the scroll for a long, long time. He needed to investigate the scroll more, preferably with the help of Yaga and his friends. Additionally, the textbook written by Itadori Kaori still had much to explore. The only reports of the cursed souls needed to be taken as well. However, Suguru only had two arms. He needed something capable of carrying all of this without damaging the fragile scrolls. A personal inventory of sorts.

He knew exactly what curse to use. 

He just didn’t want to use it. 

“Dammit. The things I do for you, Satoru.” Suguru muttered to himself. He sighed shakily and summoned the curse Toji had once held. The long body of the worm made the black-haired boy shiver in disgust. The memories the worm brought flashed in his mind, and Suguru had to bite his lip to stop from hyperventilating. This was the only curse Suguru had that scared him. He had only absorbed it as an act of petty revenge against Toji, with no intents of ever using it. Suguru felt bile in the back of his throat as the worm wiggled and wrapped against him. With his eyes shut tight, he picked up the first writing he felt, shoving it in the worm's mouth. He did it against and again until the large scroll on the ground was left. 

The worm looked at him with its horrid, purple face. Suguru felt its stare and shivered violently. “I hate you. I need you to know that I hate you.” He spat. 

The curse didn’t respond.

He sat on the ground and gathered the heavy scroll into his arms. With his eyes still snapped shut, he commanded the worm to start swallowing the scroll. He truly hoped Toji was watching from hell as his supposed servant now worked for the sorcerers he had tried to kill. 

Once the worm finished swallowing the scroll, Suguru dismissed it and immediately felt the tension within his body disappear. 

He stood to his full height, stretching his arms above his head until he felt multiple things pop. His sore body ached fiercely, but Suguru couldn’t stop now. The last scroll had finally given Suguru what he needed to help Satoru. While the full story within the scroll was yet to be deciphered, a way to free his best friend’s mind had been revealed. 

The cycle surrounding the bird-dragon entity. A bird had shown up the most in the person’s hallucinations. The bird then freed the person by breaking the eye attached to the victim’s forehead. Once the eye broke, the person was freed.

Suguru was likely the one showing up the most in Satoru’s hallucinations, accounting for the white-haired boy’s reported attempts at killing him. Perhaps seeing the one tormenting him the most suddenly helping him would break Satoru out of his trance more efficiently. Or perhaps make the hallucinations weaker if the subject of the hallucination is acting in contrast to the contents of said hallucination. Either way, it’d provide an opening of sorts to rid Satoru of his torment. 

He would free Satoru. No matter what. Suguru will succeed. There was no need to think of another plan if he fails. Because he won’t fail. 

He wouldn’t forgive himself if he failed. 

-

At some point, Shoko had stopped being surprised by the many antics her insane friends got into. Sure, when they first met, Shoko was caught off guard many times by Satoru and Suguru’s high jinks. It didn’t take long for Shoko to become an accomplice herself in their mischief. Now, Satoru could come into her office covered in chicken feathers with Suguru holding a rabid curse like a puppy, and Shoko wouldn’t bat an eye. It sounded like she was exaggerating, but she had seen the chaotic pair do weirder. As innocent as Suguru looked, she knew that it took practically zero convincing from Satoru to make the black-haired boy join in whatever prank the other was conctoing or vice versa. As long as they didn’t target her, Shoko didn’t care. They had tried to prank her once, but then remembered that she is the one with the best snacks and unlimited library of illegally downloaded movies and television shows. 

Their antics made her smile. 

This, however, did not.

“Do you think Satoru would calm down if we unleashed him in a candy shop or some shit?” Shoko spoke around her unlit cigarette. She wasn’t allowed to smoke in Tengen’s corridors, and all her nerves were already fried. Next to her, Yaga sighed heavily, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. In a way, it was. 

“No. Despite Satoru’s sweet tooth, I doubt that would be enough to return him to his normal state.” Yaga grumbled, arms crossed. His sunglasses blocked all view of his eyes, but the girl could see how tense her teacher’s body was. “Any attempts at releasing him would be seen as treason to jujutsu society, ending in our executions.” 

“Worth a shot.” 

“Don’t even think about releasing him, Shoko.” 

“What makes you think I’d do something that stupid? That’s Suguru’s job.”

“To be stupid or release Satoru?” 

No response. 

The girl looked at her teacher. Her teacher looked at her. Tension formed in the air as the elder awaited the younger’s response. Without further hesitation, Shoko met Yaga’s stare head on. 

“Both.” 

“Shoko.” An exhausted sigh escaped Yaga’s lips, he rubbed his temples to ward off the incoming headache. He took off his sunglasses to start rumbling the bridge of his nose as well. He was so damn tired. These kids. They’ve gotten quite attached to one another. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a group of students willing to go so far for each other. In any other world, this would be a good thing, but it is only seen as something to take advantage of in this cruel world. “Suguru will not be releasing Satoru, the decision is up to the elders.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” An unexpectedly sharp tone bled its way into Shoko’s normal monotone. Her passive features twisted in a deadly glare and scowl. The cigarette fell from her mouth as she roughly grabbed the collar of Yaga’s shirt. Despite her small stature, the strength of her iron grip could not be ignored. “Stop turning belly up every time the elders are involved in something!  They don’t care about you or any of us! They certainly don’t care about Satoru! They’re going to try to execute him the second our backs are turned! Because they’re fucking COWARDS!”

“Enough, Shoko-”

A violent tremor shook the ground the two stood on. Instantly, Shoko let go of Yaga and snapped her gaze to the source of the tremor. Or, more accurately, the person.

The one causing the building to shake was the one and only Gojo Satoru, bound from head to toe in chains and protective talismans. However, the talismans were there to protect others from Satoru, not Satoru himself. 

His arms were crossed behind his back and connected to a long chain on the ceiling, forcing the teen’s arms to be in an extremely uncomfortable position. Each leg had a metal bracelet with spikes on the inside, the chain of the bracelets being built into the floor. A heavy belt of chains wrapped around Satoru’s torso for the sole purpose of making it harder for the boy to move and breathe. His mouth was bound tightly with rope covered in more talismans. A much thicker rope was wrapped around his eyes with enchanted fabrics and talismans sewn into every fiber. The cracked floor next to Satoru’s left foot was the cause of the tremor. Satoru had stomped a hole into the floor due to the loud argument Shoko and Yaga were having. His mindless rage returned instantly, causing the boy to thrash in his bindings like a madman.

Drool pooled from the makeshift gag as Satoru writhed in frenzied outrage. He was trying to go towards where he heard Shoko’s voice, but the bindings were not long enough to allow him anything more than a step. Satoru’s muffled howls and screams made Shoko feel nauseous. One of her closest, goofiest friend’s had been reduced to a rabid animal. More cracks litter the floor as Satoru dug his feet into the stone floors, similar to a raging bull. Despite his attempts, the teen was no closer to being free. Satoru was in the middle of a wide room, so he had no walls to lean against or kick . A barrier was put up in addition to Satoru’s bindings. Neither Shoko nor Yaga could go through. It further made Shoko feel like she was looking at an animal at a zoo exhibit. 

“Do you really trust the elders with Satoru?” Shoko whispered, not taking her eyes off of her maddened friend.

“No. I don’t.” 

“Do you trust Suguru with Satoru?” She glanced at Yaga, who was stone faced while looking at his former student. 

“Absolutely.” Yaga spared a quick glance at Shoko before glancing back at the imprisoned boy. 

“Then let him help, sensei. Please.” It was the softest and most vulnerable Yaga had ever heard Shoko. She was normally such a level-headed girl, bordering on apathetic. He felt his doubts wash away at the sheer desperation in her voice. She didn’t show it, but Yaga knew how deeply the teen cared for her peers. 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Yaga nodded firmly. “Alright.”

For the first time in months, Shoko smiled. “Alright.”

The next couple hours were spent with Yaga and Shoko standing guard over Satoru. Neither of them were comfortable enough with leaving the boy in such a vulnerable state on his own. Each watched with increasing sadness as Satoru’s mind and body deteriorated. His feet were bloodied from his constant kicking and stomping. His ankles were ripped to shreds from the spikes of the metal cuffs. A small pool of blood had gathered beneath Satoru as a result. His wrists were rubbed raw from his thrashing, minutes away from becoming as bloody as his ankles. With his arms being forced to be crossed and raised in the air for so long, Satoru had begun trembling from the strain. His arms were covered in angry, red blotches from the uneven blood flow. To make things worse, the pain in his arms had grown so unbearable that the rope covering Satoru’s eyes became soaked in the boy’s tears. His chest heaved with every breath from the chains around his torso. Despite having reverse cursed technique, Satoru was in no state to use it nor remember that he even had it . Shoko felt useless. She was the healer, yet she was not allowed to go inside the barrier and heal Satoru’s wounds. 

Sporadically, Satoru would have bursts of energy and start howling and thrashing. It was clear that he was trying to go towards where Shoko and Yaga stood, but couldn’t. Whether it was to attack them or not was unknown. There was one terrifying moment where Satoru tried activating his cursed technique. A blue light showed in his palms and the corridors trembled like a wobbly stack of blocks. Shoko would have yelled at Satoru if it wasn’t for Yaga reminding her that it would not snap Satoru out of his trance. Eventually, Satoru’s energy dropped and the glow went away. He twitched and muffled various things for almost an hour nonstop. 

Currently, Satoru had quieted down. His loose white shirt, provided by the lost and found bin the school had, was stained with blood, sweat, and drool. His body was constantly trembling from the muscles being strained for far too long. It looked like his knees would buckle at any minute with how harsh the tremors were. The black pants he wore were too short on his lanky legs and revealed the deep bruising Satoru had given himself by repeatedly kicking at the stone floor. Wheezes escaped the boy’s bound lips. Shoko had no doubt in her mind that his ribs were bruised or even fractured from the tight bindings. Despite his weakened state, she also knew that Satoru was still the strongest in the room. Even with Tengen’s barrier, the miasma cursed energy always held had gotten so thick that Shoko found it hard to breath. It felt like breathing something as volatile as electricity. Her hair as well as Yaga’s had become frizzled from the sheer power within the air. Satoru was still producing cursed energy, likely from his hallucinations causing the boy to think he was in a battle of sorts. However, the cursed energy had nowhere to go due to the talismans and barrier. Moreover, the surplus of energy felt unstable. It reminded Shoko of how Satoru’s technique used to feel when he was a first-year still figuring his powers out. Erratic and ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. 

Shoko had decided to sit down after the first half-hour of watching her friend. Fighting off the want to leave and go smoke had taken all of  her focus. So much so that she barely registered her phone going off. Yaga had to shake her awake. 

“Check your phone. And silence it when you're done.” Yaga mumbled. He patted her shoulder before promptly walking off the opposite side of the room. Neither of them noticed how Satoru’s head tilted towards the sound of Yaga’s shoes clacking against the floor. 

Blinking away her weariness, Shoko pulled out her phone, which miraculously still worked underground. It was a text from Suguru. 

She shot up like a rocket. Relief flooded her so fast that Shoko blurted out, “It’s Suguru!” 

Immediately, a snarl interrupted her mini-celebration. At the name of his supposed best friend, Satoru’s writhing began anew. However, his thrashing was the most violent it's ever been. The air grew thick with power, giving off the scent of ozone. Yaga slapped a hand against his face and groaned. His students were amazing, but stupid. 

“Shit.” Shoko lowered his voice and body. She went back to her phone and read the series of texts Suguru sent her. 

curse_gobbler: @lesbianmalpractice i’ve figured out a way to save @xXxlimitlessfirby42069xXx (Today at 6:08 PM)

curse_gobbler: find a way to get him out of that barrier. i need more time to set up some things on my end. (Today at 6:09 PM)

curse_gobbler: try to send him to the arena we use during exchange events. idc how you do it just do it please. if you can’t do that just send him to the surface and i’ll figure it out. it’s best to have him in the forest (Today at 6:11 PM)

curse_gobbler: text me when you free him pls (Today at 6:12 PM.)

curse_gobbler: if you don’t free him, i will literally kill u and kms (Today at 6:12 PM)

lesbianmalpractice: got it. i think talking shit about u will work. satoru started fucking snarling the second he heard ur name. (Today at 6:13 PM)

curse_gobbler: damn. just get him to activate his limitless and i’m sure it’ll be stronger than tengen’s barrier. (Today at 6:14 PM)

lesbianmalpracitice: u think that satoru’s limitless is more powerful than tengen’s barrier? (Today at 6:14 PM)

curse_gobbler: it has to be. otherwise i can’t do shit. i’m not going to consider anything other than success. i refuse to. (Today at 6:14 PM)

lesbianmalpractice: you’ll succeed suguru. no one knows satoru like u. and when this is all over, we’ll have a movie marathon and sleep for a week. and change satoru’s stupid username (Today at 6:15 PM)

curse_gobbler: i’m looking forward to it (Today at 6:15 PM)

lesbianmalpractice: i am too (Today at 6:16 PM)

“It’ll work.” Shoko whispered to herself. She put her phone in the pocket of her jacket and went to the very edge of Tengen’s barrier. She was so close that she could feel the energy the barrier was emitting. Like clockwork, Satoru lunged towards her, not going very far. One of the spikes within his ankles bracelets had become wedged deep into the skin, but Satoru showed no signs of pain. With a deep breath, Shoko shouted as loudly as she could. “SUGURU IS STRONGER THAN YOU. I HOPE SUGURU BEATS YOU TO A PULP. SUGURU IS GOING TO STOP YOU. SUGURU IS BETTER! SUGURU! SUGURU! SUGURU IS GOING TO SAVE YOU, SATORU!”

“What are you doing, Shoko?! Do you want him to-”

A shockwave of pure cursed energy caused each sorcerer to crash to the ground. Cracks littered the ground, even outside of Tengen’s barrier. Satoru screamed against his binds, thrashing so hard that Shoko heard several bones crack. The scent of ozone intensified until Shoko felt her nostrils burn. She motioned Yaga to come to her and not the line of fire. 

Satoru roared as he jerkled his arms down, causing a sickening snap to fill the air. 

He had broken his arms and dislocated his shoulders to have his hands in front of him. Screaming, Satoru pulled his wrists apart until the skin tore. Eventually, the chain connecting the shackles together snapped. With his arms bleeding profusely, Satoru raised his hands to the rope around his mouth and tugged harshly, immediately breaking it in two. Satoru spat the rope out and gasped deep lungfuls of air.

With each breath, the wounds around Satoru began to close. His reversed technique had finally kicked in with the removal of some of the talismans. Satoru tore apart the chains around his torso like paper, screaming while he did so. He broke into a coughing fit with the sudden decrease in pressure on his lungs. In seconds, Satoru recovered and went to the shackles around his heavily damaged ankles. Eachspike was embedded deep into his ankles. With a frustrated snarl, Satoru raised a hand in the air and chopped off his right ankle. Shoko felt herself recoil at the sight, wanting to instinctively go to her friend and slap him beside the head for being so reckless. However, the ankle was fully restored in the blink of an eye. Satoru repeated the same motion with his other ankle. With everything except for his eyes being freed, Satoru took the time to reset his shoulders. He showed no hint of pain. Instead of agonizing screams or whimpers, Satoru’s lips were moving in an apparent conversation with himself. He stopped suddenly and froze, his lips still busy frantically muttering nonsense. 

Shoko saw how hard Satoru shook. Healing broken bones and amputated limbs took an indescribable amount of cursed energy. Satoru may have a well of cursed energy deeper than comprehension, but he was still human. He hadn’t drank or eaten in days and had just used massive amounts of cursed energy. 

He needed a boost. 

“SUGURU IS AT THE SCHOOL, SATORU! HE’S WAITING FOR YOU!” 

It was exactly what he needed. 

As if a switch had been flicked, Satoru jolted from his prior catatonic state. He locked his covered eyes with Shoko. “ Where. Where is he? ”

His voice was nearly unrecognizable with how raspy it was. It sounded painful, like each syllable was an agony to suffer through. She shook her head to rid herself of her worried thoughts. “He’s in the forest where the exchange event usually takes place! Suguru is waiting for you there, Satoru.” It was clear that the hallucinations were making Satoru see Suguru as some monster to be stopped. Shoko saw how tense Satoru was getting, a viper ready to strike. She backed away and motioned Yaga to do the same. “Yeah. Suguru’s there, Satoru. Suguru is dangerous. He’s already killed people.” 

Before she could breathe, Satoru ripped off the rope around his eyes and bore his maddened gaze into Shoko. He banged his fists on the barrier. “WHO?! WHO DID HE KILL?!  TELL ME NOW!”

Make him use limitless. Make him stronger than Tengen, even if it’s just for a second. He has to be stronger. He’ll die if he isn’t. She swallowed. “Everyone.”

It was silent for a moment before all hell broke loose. The ground, walls, and ceilings trembled as Satoru began to howl a scream of pure loss and pain. A purple glow was starting to emit from Satoru’s palms. In addition, the barrier shook with effort to contain the boy. It got brighter and brighter as Satoru charged up enough energy to blow up the whole country.

“WE HAVE TO GO.” Yaga shouted, grasping onto Shoko’s arms and running towards a random corridor. She ran alongside him, heart beating rapidly in her chest. The howls of rage echoes in the chambers. Shoko felt her lip wobble as she ran and bit it harsh enough to draw blood. 

Thankfully it seemed that Tengen wasn’t upset at them, allowing them to pass through the many doors and pathways. All the while, the entire place shuddered. Debris started falling and the air around her grew hot and thick.

Just as Shoko and Yaga exited the Tombs of the Star Corridor, a violent explosion followed. With his reactivation of Limitless, Gojo Satoru managed to escape Tengen’s barrier. It couldn’t contain Infinite afterall. Moreover, all it takes is a single drop too many to make a container overflow. 

-

Suguru felt his stomach drop the second he heard the explosion in the distance. Both from relief and dread. Relief for Satoru being freed, but dread for what’s to come. When Suguru told Shoko he had a plan, it was a complete lie. At best, he had the torn scraps of a plan that should be over one hundred pages long. For once, he was grateful for his technique allowing him such a large variety of abilities. He would need his adaptability in battle more than anything else. 

The air around him grew heavy with what felt like static. Suguru stood his ground as he saw the bushes shake and trees tremble. He made sure his senses were strained to the limit to detect any signs of Satoru. The snap of a twig, the crunch of a leaf, even the scent of ice Satoru’s skin tended to have. Several of his curses were released into the forest, and he waited until he felt one of them be exorcized.

First one down.

Second.

Third.

Fourth. Firth. Sixth. Ninth. Thirteenth. Wait-

“Oh fuck.” Suguru braced himself as all of his curses were exorcized in moments. He had thought that they would buy him some time, but he had forgotten how powerful Satoru truly was. Especially a Satoru with no restraint. “Please be-”

He didn’t even get to blink before he was tackled into the dirt, a bony knee stabbing into his back. 

His curses were all semi-grade one and above. Satoru had defeated them all in less than a minute! 

For the first time since meeting the white-haired boy, Suguru truly felt afraid of Gojo Satoru.

“I didn’t take you as the one to hide, Suguru. Sending weak curses after me instead of facing me head on. You’ve sure fallen from grace~” Satoru snarled into Suguru’s ear, his hot breath causing the other to shiver. An ice cold hand wrapped around Suguru’s hair and yanked. “Did you really think I’d let a bastard like you escape a second time? No. Unlike you, I learn from my mistakes.” 

Suguru felt like he was about to be scalped with how hard Satoru held his hair. The knee on his back felt more like a knife digging into his spine. Having Satoru talk to him as if he was a monster made Suguru want to curl into a ball and disappear. All the thoughts he had about himself only being capable of hatred and anger reappeared. His eyes watered as Satoru yanked his hair again. He swore he felt something tear. He had been foolish. Suguru had thought that he would be able to handle Satoru, even if it was for a small amount of time. To even assume he was on the same level as Satoru was the most idiotic thing Suguru had ever done. There was no escaping Satoru’s grip. 

“You’ve gotten away with far too much, Suguru. I can’t even look at you anymore without wanting to incinerate you into bits and pieces. Not that you deserve such a swift end. I’ll make it slow. Just like how you tortured me for years, I’ll do the same to you.”

The volatile tension in the air grew, and Suguru was suddenly filled with regrets. Even if Satoru was deep into his own tortured mind and hallucinations, Suguru still felt like there was a level of truth to his words. He had fallen from grace. Suguru had started as a reliable, respected sorcerer, the pride and joy of his family. He was molded to be the perfect little soldier, and he fulfilled that role for years. He always kept a polite smile on his face and made sure to be as selfless as possible. Anytime he tried to do something of his own fruition, Suguru would freeze like a glitching computer. He had no thoughts of his own, only the thoughts of what a ‘hero’ would do and how a ‘sorcerer’ should behave. He had eventually come to see the teachings of his elders as law. He believed in them like a dedicated sorcerer should. He helped non-sorcerer's without hesitation. That was what he was told was right. And wasn’t it the right thing to do? Helping someone couldn’t ever be seen as bad, right? His elders didn’t lie about that. 

So why does Suguru feel like they did lie to him? They only wanted him to be the best sorcerer he could be, that wasn’t something to hate them for.

 But Suguru still did. 

He hated his teachers. He hated his parents even more. Suguru was the first sorcerer in his family line, so none of them knew what to do when their son started talking about seeing monsters in the walls. They quickly grew into seeing it as a blessing to be nurtured. His parents spent almost all their money on tutors, barely having enough for housing and food. Family members who he didn’t know existed flocked to Suguru and showered him in presents to further his career as a sorcerer. They sacrificed so much for him, so Suguru should be grateful. It was the fact that he wasn’t that bothered him greatly. His hatred towards his parents grew so intense that he dreamed of killing them multiple times. What kind of person thinks of killing their own parents? Suguru apparently. He was built wrong, malformed and useless. Saying that he’s a monster was not a stretch of the imagination by any means. His dark thoughts had grown this past year, only further proving Suguru’s point. 

Maybe he should let Satoru kill him. 

Afterall, he was the worst friend in the world. Satoru was friends with an empty shell, and empty shells can’t make a good friend. He just spat out rehearsed lines someone else had told him. Sure, he joked around with Satoru and they had become attached at the hip, but Satoru was friends with the perfect sorcerer Suguru was sculpted as. All of his thoughts and actions were based on those of another. The real Suguru didn’t know anything. What to think. How to feel. Why to continue on. His only true thought was his plan to rid the world of non-sorcerers. It had been the only thing that Suguru had believed in that wasn’t associated with his elder’s teachings in any way. That spoke bounds as to who Suguru truly was. A monster hellbent on killing innocents. That kind of person shouldn’t be Satoru’s friend. Not when Satoru was the most special thing in Suguru’s life. He couldn’t taint someone as pure as Satoru. It didn’t matter that they both had blood on their hands, Satoru’s soul was unstained. Suguru’s was stained by the putrid darkness within him. He had wanted to kill every non-sorcerer with a burning passion. A passion that was his own making. A passion that was just murder. Genocide. That was Suguru. A killing machine. 

A monster who still wanted to kill non-sorcerers. The hatred hadn’t gone away, still raging inside him. He hated those monkeys. Even after everything, Suguru couldn’t let his hatred go. Any normal person would. Satoru would. Satoru was the person that took all the blows so no one else would. Satoru was loud, obnoxious, and infuriating. He enjoyed causing mischief and roped Suguru into his plans every time. Satoru reveled in the mayhem he caused, but there was so much more to him. For instance, Satoru would cause Suguru to laugh until his sides hurt and eyes watered without prompt. He would buy Suguru and Shoko the most lavish gifts just because he could, often showing up with decadent desserts and luxurious souvenirs for the two at any time. It didn't  need to be their birthday, Satoru would just give Suguru the most expensive hoodie he had ever seen and try to justify his random gift by teasing Suguru about his style or some other weak excuse. Hell, Satoru had gifted Suguru a crystal statue of a dragon that was covered in diamonds and emeralds just because it reminded the boy of Suguru's Rainbow Dragon curse. No one had ever given Suguru gifts like that before. He was used to receiving textbooks and weapons on his birthday or during holidays. It was always about Suguru being a jujutsu sorcerer, not Suguru himself. Satoru, for some impossible reason, cared for Suguru. And Suguru was too selfish to tell Satoru to stop. 

Satour was everything to him. Suguru couldn’t imagine his life without Satoru. He was beautiful and absolutely radiant . His one and only.

Yet Suguru was willing to leave him behind.

How many times did Satoru have nightmares of the Toji incident? Of Riko’s assassination and Satoru’s own assassination attempt? Suguru used to hold Satoru and cuddle him every time his closest friend had nightmares or was simply feeling down. He would hold onto Satoru tightly, and the other would hold him even tighter, whispering ‘thank yous’ nonstop. Satoru was someone who grew up without a shred of affection, so he clung to Suguru like a koala whenever he could. How hurt must have Satoru felt when Suguru never showed up to comfort him? Fuck . When was the last time he hugged Satoru? Truly embraced him, not the desperate hug he shared in a half-conscious state with Nanami and Satoru after the disastrous Sendai mission. An actual hug, the ones where no words are shared as Suguru wraps his arms around Satoru’s waist, and Satoru can feel Suguru’s warmth while Suguru can feel the pleasant coolness of Satoru’s ivory skin. The hugs where Satoru nuzzles into the crook of Suguru’s neck with a happy hum, fitting like perfect puzzle pieces against each other. The hugs that last so long that Suguru ends up flopping on his or Satoru’s bed, continuing to hold the other as sleep takes hold of Satoru first while Suguru cards his fingers through impossibly soft snow-white hair before falling asleep himself. The hugs that leave Suguru’s soul so light and whole that it’s physically painful to separate. 

He couldn’t remember. 

“I’m sorry.” Suguru blurted out, his voice shaky and watery. The second the words left him, it was like the floodgates of Suguru’s soul opened. Tears quickly formed in Suguru’s eyes, streaming down his face in seconds. HIs chest heaved as Suguru began to cry for the first time in over a year. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Satoru. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry -”

He couldn’t stop apologizing to Satoru. There was so much he had done that needed to be rectified. The grip around his hair loosened as Suguru, normally known for being composed and level headed, grew hysterical. His sobbing made his apologies slur together until even he didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t stop. Even as he felt the dirt beneath his face turn muddy from his tears and snot, he continued to bawl like a toddler. He felt horrible. He felt so lost. He felt guilty and shameful and just badbadbad. 

“ ‘M sorry, Satoru.” Suguru sobbed out, his chest aching with how forcefully he said those words. His very soul was aching, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He was remembering everything all over again. His parents. His teachers. Jujutsu Sorcery. Satoru. Shoko. Yaga Nanami. Riko. Haibara. Toji .  Finally, Suguru reached his breaking point. All the trauma and pain he had experienced came down all at once. He began to blubber like a child. “It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have left you! It’s all my fault you got hurt! Riko died ‘cause of me. I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect you! And then I left you all alone for months even though I knew how much you were hurting! I ignored you, and I shouldn’t have! I’m sorry, Satoru! I know I’m a monster! I know I’ve caused you so much pain! Fuck, you died for a moment and I wasn’t there! I don’t know how to be there for you anymore, Satoru! I don’t know how to do anything! I’m a fucking fraud! I’m not a hero! I’m not good like you! You have every right to kill me! I’ll hurt more people if I live, that’s all I’m good at! And I’ve hurt you more than anyone else and I can’t do that! I can’t do this anymore, Satoru, so just do it already! Please -”

“NO!” 

The knee on his back and grip on his hair disappeared. It shocked Suguru out of his meltdown, allowing the boy to take a much needed breath. He felt frozen as he breathed in harshly, the air thick with tension. So quiet that Suguru could only hear his own heartbeat and breath. 

“Shut up. Shut the hell up this instant!” Satoru shrieked. In said instant, Suguru felt his heart skip a beat at the unhinged tone. It sounded nothing like the Satoru he knew, his voice was completely unrecognizable. Identical to someone deemed deranged or a lunatic.

Silence overcame them once more. Neither moving an inch.

The trembling breaths of Satoru were the only clue as to where the teen was, which was directly behind Suguru. Somehow, Satoru felt far too close and incredibly far away at the same time. 

“Be quiet, you bastard… Just shut up. Don’t cry like that…Please not like that! I can’t take it. I can’t either. It’s too much.” Satoru whispered in a terrified plea, a complete shift from his prior cold brutality. The weak murmurs of the white-haired teen paralyzed Suguru. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t… I’m sorry. Come back to me, please…Don’t go…”

Satoru then grew silent for several, tense minutes.

Then Satoru moved.

A few twigs snapped as Satoru walked around a still prone Suguru. He looked down at him, but Suguru noticed the violent shaking of his fists. Satoru, only clad in a dirty shirt and too short pants, had no sunglasses to hide his eyes. The clarity Suguru expected to see was nonexistent. They were foggy and unfocused. His eyelids twitched, and Suguru could see just how unstable Satoru was. His own mind was too exhausted to come up with a plan, energy drained from his outburst. Suguru rose from the floor to his knees, not feeling confident enough to stand. 

Satoru inhaled sharply. He glared at Suguru and barked out, “Don’t say that! Don’t you dare say that, you fucking asshole! Quit throwing yourself a pity party!” The teen then gripped the collar of his shirt tightly and looked at the dirt. His form shook as Satoru’s head twitched. His hands then wrenched to his head and started clawing at his cheeks. Satoru heaved in violent breaths. “Quit acting like him! You’re not him! Right?! Are you him?! But your forehead…It’s not…Is it there?! I can’t remember! Shit, I can’t remember anything!” 

He’s still hallucinating . Suguru remembered with a gasp. His breakdown had left him empty and exhausted. Yet, Suguru had no time to rest. He had to pull himself together and help Satoru. Even so, his mind wasn’t cooperating whatsoever. His body was sapped of all energy, his head pounded, his eyes burned, his stomach ached from both nausea and hunger, and Suguru wanted to curl up in a ball forever. Both his body and mind were useless. It was like trying to tie two broken strings together, only the strings have gotten so weathered and thin that it breaks each time a knot is attempted. Suguru made eye contact with Satoru, feeling like the scum of the earth. “Satoru-”

“Shut up!” Satoru wrenched his body from Suguru like it burned him. He took several steps back with shaking legs. “I’ve heard enough!”

“Satoru, please-”

“BE QUIET!” 

In a flash, Satoru was gripping Suguru by the collar of his jacket, holding him high in the air effortlessly. The forest around them seemed to grow quiet as the two stared at each other. 

Being so close, Suguru saw how terrible Satoru looked. He had forgotten that he had been comatose for several days while Satoru had been awake the entire time. Satoru had been hallucinating for days . Satoru’s body trembled nonstop, and Suguru noticed how translucent and sickly his skin looked. Blood was stained around his shirt and pants, sweat beaded from his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot. The bags around his cloudy eyes and the slight hollowness of his cheeks meant that Satoru hadn’t slept or eaten since the Sendai mission. 

His body is shutting down. He’s going to pass out some time soon. I just have to wait it out. Suguru raised his tired arms to grasp the hand holding his collar. It didn’t budge, but Suguru held onto it tightly. He remembered the cycle the painting showed.

The bird that plagued the victim’s mind the most pecked the victim's forehead, making the eye on their head disappear and freeing the victim. 

Pecking.

An idea popped into Suguru's chaotic mind, the most idiotic idea he had ever had. But he had nothing else. 

Suguru summoned a curse to drag him back to the ground. The moment its tentacle wrapped around Suguru’s leg and pulled, Satoru jolted in surprise. Once his feet were planted on the ground, Suguru took advantage of Satoru being distracted, wrapping his arms around Satoru’s shoulders. Satoru snapped his head towards Suguru, his cloudy eyes unable to focus. Not allowing Satoru the chance to center himself, he went through with his desperate idea. 

He crashed his forehead down on Satoru’s in a brutal headbutt. 

The painful snap of both their necks was disorienting, a welt already beginning to form, but Suguru seized the opportunity to free himself from Satoru’s grip. Blood streamed down each of their foreheads, but Satoru was the most affected. He went to grasp his head, dizziness causing Satoru to wobble and sway. 

Suguru got into a defensive position, fists ready to retaliate. His eyes frantically searched for an eyeball on Satoru’s head, but he found none. The eyeball must have been symbolic then. That makes things so much harder! I can’t tell if I broke him out of the trance or not! He hissed as the pain in his head intensified. Battling would be impossible with Suguru in such a state. 

“What the hell, Suguru?! Why did you do that?! That hurt!” 

There it is. The bright voice Satoru was supposed to have. His impulsive idea had worked.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Satoru! Are you with me now? Can you see me?” Suguru, ignoring his mind’s warning, walked towards Satoru. He had his hands low in a placating gesture. He felt relief, but he still approached with trepidation. Satoru made no moves to attack. In fact, the boy was rubbing the bleeding welt on his forehead with a pout. “Satoru?”

“You’re lucky I can use the Reverse Cursed Technique, or else Shoko would have beat your ass. Damn, your head is like a rock, no wonder you’re so dense sometimes!” Satoru giggled. He looked like the Satoru who Suguru had come to know. With ease, Satoru healed himself and glanced at Suguru with a smirk. However, it faded as quickly as it appeared. Both of Satoru’s arms went limp at his sides. He froze like a statue, boring his eyes into Suguru’s. Disregarding the warning signs, Suguru stepped closer until he was inches apart from his friend. With the most gentleness Suguru could muster, he placed a hand on Satoru’s shoulder with his other hand cupping Satoru’s cheek. The white-haired boy’s head went limp in Suguru’s hold. His trembling grew even stronger, along with Satoru now gasping for breath. 

“Satoru!” Suguru wrapped both arms tightly around Satoru’s chest, knowing what to do on instinct alone. One hand rubbed his back in soothing strokes while the other soothes fingers through Satoru’s hair. The movements were smooth and well-practiced. He felt Satoru put all of his weight on Suguru suddenly. Thinking that he had passed out, Suguru leaned back to gaze at Satoru. Only he was still awake. However, the cloudiness of Satoru’s eyes faded more and more. Satoru’s hyperventilating grew into slow, deep breaths. 

He was back. Satoru was back.

Then he felt Satoru violenting wrench away.

Satoru stumbled to a random log with his hand covering his mouth. He used the log as support as Satoru began to gag and retch. Because there was no food to throw up, Satoru was left uncontrollably dry-heaving. On autopilot, Suguru went to Satoru and helped get his hair out of his face. It was second nature to be near Satoru, so Suguru ignored the ozone tint of the air to rub Satoru’s back. His mind was so discombobulated that Suguru forgot the delicate circumstance he was in. 

The sun had begun to set when Satoru stopped retching nothing but stomach acid. Satoru spit on the ground and shakily got up. When Suguru tried to help Satoru stand more stably, he realized that there was more going on with Satoru than Suguru thought. He seemed to be in reality, but his behavior was off-kilter. Satoru pushed Suguru away, the evening sun casting a deep orange glow on the forest and teens. There were no signs of Satoru hallucinating, but Satoru was still acting strange with his wide eyes locking with Satoru’s. 

“Are you-”

“You were going to defect and kill all non-sorcerers, right? Get rid of the ‘monkeys’. Killing hundreds of people and your own parents. You were gonna do that, right?”

All of Suguru’s veins turned to ice. “How-”

“Don’t give me any bullshit, Suguru. You had a plan to annihilate all non-sorcerers from Japan. I need an answer. No excuses. Did you plan to exterminate non-sorcerers and defect from Jututsu society? Yes or no?”

It felt like Satoru was towering over Suguru, a god looking down upon mere ants. Suguru clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. Was Satoru paying attention when Suguru brokedown? Did he know beforehand? No matter how Satoru obtained the information, he was expecting Suguru to respond. With no doubt or hesitation, Suguru answered. “Yes.”

“Why.” 

It took Suguru by surprise to hear Satoru not scream at him or kill him for his plans. He blinked, waiting for any further responses from Satoru, but the teen simply stood stiffly with a piercing gaze. Suguru looked down at the dirt. He scowled at the memories that flooded in. Riko. Toji. The applause. The deafening fucking applause. “They’re monkeys, Satoru. Their inability to control cursed energy has caused us jujutsu sorcerers to die fighting the curses they create! Jujutsu sorcerers die day in and day out because the monkeys continue to live! That’s all they are, Satoru! What have they ever done for us? Have they died for us?! Have they ever tried returning the favor?!  The answer is they haven’t! We die for them . We fight murderous curses constantly for them . We have our comrades slaughtered for them . I have to consume and absorb curses over and over and over again FOR THEM ! AND THEY’RE NOT EVEN GRATEFUL! THEY’RE MONKEYS WHO KNOW NOTHING BUT TO APPLAUSE FOR THEIR OWN STUPIDITY! Listen, Satoru! Without the monkeys, we wouldn’t have to fight curses ever again! This country would be much better off with only jujutsu sorcerers! I hate those monkeys, all they have ever done is be cruel and ungrateful, and I’m not going to be convinced to believe otherwise.” The more Suguru spoke, the more emboldened he became. The hateful passion ignited once more, and Suguru told Satoru the plan he had been cultivating for a year.

 It was disturbing to see Suguru go from staying calm to completely melting down to yelling out all of his digressions with humanity. He knew it was wrong of him, but the control of his emotions had vanished. He was a sea of anger, regret, and grief, the waves moving him in all directions with no chance of allowing Suguru to choose where he went. He was unstable. Satoru was unstable. Both boys were in horrible headspaces, only having each other to lean on, not knowing how the suffering within them grew worse and worse. 

“You hate non-sorcerers.”

“I do…”

“Non-sorcerers are monkeys that contribute nothing to our world.”

“Yeah. They are monkeys. I can’t see them any other way.”

“...”

“...”

“Was Riko a dumb, drooling  monkey that deserves to die?” Satoru asked with an eerily calm voice. His expression was hidden due to the lack of light from the setting sun. He cocked his head to the side and scoffed. “Would you have killed her yourself if she was still here?”

All of Suguru’s fire went out. He didn’t know the answer to that. Suguru was planning to kill his parents since there were no exceptions in his quest for eradicating monkeys. The thought of killing Riko made bile rise in his throat. Suguru scoffed. “She’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Quit deflecting Suguru. I need an answer.” Satoru replied coolly. The two best friends looked like they were about to face each other in a battle of the death.  Dark orange shined on Suguru’s features while a reddish-orange encased Satoru. A foot apart. Face to face. The Strongest. 

While Gojo Satoru had been broken out of his hellish reprieve, his brain was permanently altered. The trance causing him to hallucinate was broken when Getou Suguru made contact with his forehead. He had unknowingly fulfilled a binding vow. In exchange for making the psychic attack exponentially stronger, a way to break it was implemented: the main subject of the hallucinations must make skin to skin contact with the victim head. No one that had suffered under the psychic attack had ever managed to be freed. The first person to break out of the trance was Gojo Satoru. However, there was more to Gojo Satoru’s trance. Unbeknownst to Getou Suguru, Gojo Satoru had been given over two decades of information in the span of a couple days. His brain suffered permanent damage. In an act of pure impulsive and reckless thought, Gojo Satoru made a gamble he would have never made prior to the attack.

“If you tell me that Riko is a monkey who deserves to die, and you mean it whole-heartedly, then I will join you and help eradicate all non-sorcerers. I’ll even make a binding vow that will ensure my loyalty if you have doubts. Just tell me you hate Riko, and I’ll go with you to make your plans become a reality.”

Out of anything that Satoru could have uttered, this was the most unexpected outcome of all. In no world did Suguru imagine that Satoru would agree with him and join him. It should be impossible for someone like Satoru to be willing to do such a thing. A binding vow was a serious matter in all cases, and Satoru just opened himself up to one. Imagining Satoru by his side while they get rid of all monkeys was both a pipedream and Suguru’s worst nightmare. He couldn’t do that to Satoru. He was too good of a person. 

Yet he was offering his aid and loyalty. All Satoru needed was Suguru to admit what he truly thinks about Riko, that she is a monkey like the rest of non-sorcerers. 

If Suguru admitted such a thing and meant it, then the binding vow would be fulfilled immediately. Satoru would join his side and defect from Jujutsu Society. He could finally leave. His plans were no longer farfetched with someone like Satoru by his-

Someone like Satoru would hate every second. 

He couldn’t do that to Satoru. Making Satoru suffer in such a way would be the cruelest thing Suguru had ever done. Satoru meant too much to Suguru. He couldn’t drag Satoru from his place in the stars to the dark hellscape Suguru belonged in. 

And to top everything off…

Suguru couldn’t say Riko was a monkey and mean it. It would be a total lie. 

Would he have to give up on his plans? He wanted to stay with his friends, but wanted to leave and get rid of the monkeys that caused them to get hurt. Haibara was killed by a curse. A curse spawned from non-sorcerers. His friends would never suffer again if he eradicated the source of all curses. 

Riko was a non-sorcerer. 

Were there curses that spawned from Riko’s negative emotions? 

How many sorcerers were killed by those curses? Should she-

 I want to be with everyone longer!

I want to go to all kinds of places with everyone!

I want to see all kinds of things and do more!

Riko loved life and wanted to see all parts of it. She loved life more than anyone he had ever met. She was like the little sister Suguru never had. 

Let’s go home, Riko-chan. 

Yeah!

But a bullet through her skull snuffed out her light. 

What if he was the one holding the gun, seeing her as just another monkey to exterminate?

Non-sorcerers were monkeys. Riko was a non-sorcerer, but was she-

“She’s not.” Suguru gasped out. His eyes immediately began to water. “She didn’t deserve to be killed! All she wanted to do was stay with us and Misato-san! That’s all she wanted, Satoru! But that monkey Toji shot her before she had a chance to live that life! She and Misato-san were the only good non-sorcerers, but they’re dead! There aren’t any other non-sorcerers worth sparing left! Don’t you remember how those monkey’s applauded Riko-chan’s death?! None of them are worth sparing! None!” 

“What makes you think a society of sorcerers would be better?!” Satoru snapped back. He grit his teeth in a snarl. “Sorcerers are worse than non-sorcerers! If non-sorcerers are monkeys, then I’m a fucking monster!”

What?

“Satoru, you are no-” Suguru instantly went to shut down such false claims. 

“OF COURSE I AM!” It felt like Suguru had been slapped in the face. Satoru marched over towards Suguru and pushed him. Hard. There was so much force that Suguru was sent slamming into a tree, causing the bark to splinter and crack. Satoru wasn’t finished. His rage was palpable in the air. His eyes seemed to glow with how intensely they glared at the black-haired teen. “I BARELY EVEN TOUCHED YOU, AND YOU WERE SENT SEVERAL HUNDRED FEET! SORCERERS ARE MONSTERS COMPARED TO NON-SORCERERS! AND I’M THE WORST OF THEM ALL. YOU KEEP SAYING HOW NON-SORCERERS ARE MONKEYS, LIKE THEY AREN’T EVEN HUMAN ANYMORE! JUST PESTS TO BE REMOVED! WHAT DOES THAT MAKE ME THEN, HUH?! I’VE KILLED PEOPLE! I’VE HURT PEOPLE! I’M MORE OF A MONSTER THAN ANYONE ELSE! DO YOU KNOW HOW BADLY I WANT TO BE HUMAN?! I DON’T WANT TO BE SOME FUCKING WEAPON! I NEVER ASKED TO BE A SORCERER, AND NON-SORCERERS DON’T CHOOSE TO SPAWN CURSES! I’LL NEVER BE A HUMAN! NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY!”

A blast of pure cursed energy shot from Satoru’s palms. The explosion that followed caused several trees to crash and even more ignite in flames. Tears of utter rage flowed down Satoru’s cheeks. He went to Suguru and yanked him into a standing position. With the sun almost set and the fire spreading, the forest looked to be bathed in crimson. Satoru gestured a sweeping hand towards the growing inferno. He let out a painful laugh. 

“This is me, Suguru!” Satoru let Suguru go unceremoniously and spread his arms wide. “In a society where non-sorcerers with no abilities are deemed monkeys, then I can only be this! A monster of pure destruction!” Satoru said cheerily, sending another blast of cursed energy through the forest, causing a crater to be formed where the great trees once stood. “This is me holding back, Suguru! What would I be in your perfect society if I can do this, hm~”

Suguru looked at Satoru in horror. No. The only monster was Suguru. Satoru wasn’t. If he was a monster, then Suguru didn’t know what he would classify at. His body was covered in scrapes with bruises quickly forming. Something had definitely fractured and blood was pouring from the cuts on his skull. Even so, he stood tall. “You’re not a monster! You save people with those powers-”

“I don’t.” Satoru whispered. It was then like all the energy had been sapped out of Satoru. Finally, the dehydration, sleep deprivation, and lack of food caught up to the boy, even someone as powerful as Gojo Satoru. He collapsed into Suguru’s arms, who had instinctively gone to catch him. Satoru’s body couldn't take it anymore. While Satoru remained conscious, he felt the exhaustion within his very bones call for him. He refused to give in. “I don’t save people, Suguru. I never really have. I’m much better at the opposite. Shit, I had already killed two people before I even turned ten! How wild is that? You know, I killed the puppy I was given for my seventh birthday after one day of having her. I accidentally petted her too hard and snapped her neck. And that was me trying my best to be gentle! That’s me, Suguru. I’m a freak of nature. So…How can you hate non-sorcerers so much if I’m worse?” 

The blistering heat of the fire was uncomfortable, but Suguru kept holding Satoru despite the rising temperatures. It was getting harder to breathe with the smoke from the forest fire that had gotten out of control. They needed to move, but Suguru stayed put. He couldn’t move if he tried. He was in a state of utter shock. Processing Satoru’s words was frying Suguru’s brain. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around Satoru seeing himself as anything but incredible. Suguru placed his cheek against Satoru’s soft hair. “I’m sorry, Satoru. You’re not a monster. You’re the complete opposite. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and everything about you makes me feel like I’m in the presence of an angel more often than not.” Suguru let out a small smile when he felt Satoru snort at his words. He ignored the flames as a wave of serenity came over him. It felt like they were in their own bubble of sorts. “To be honest…I don’t know who I am or what I believe anymore. I hate non-sorcerers, but labeling Riko as a monkey would be tarnishing her name. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Satoru. That’s why I distanced myself for all this time. You were figuring things out while everything around me was unraveling. I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I thought I’d get my shit together, but I didn’t. I just got worse.” Suguru tightened his hold on Satoru at that. He had gotten to his lowest, darkest points this past year. No good came out of his self-isolation. “I still don’t know what to do now, but I do know that I’m not leaving you. I want to stay by your side if you’d let me. Maybe we can figure things out together. I found out so much about cursed souls, and we’ll need to be ready for Sukuna. We need to prepare for a lot of things. I’d be a dick and an idiot if I left now. I’m staying. I understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore after this, but I’ll still help you and the others in any way I can. I promise, Satoru. I’ll be with you in whatever way you’ll allow me.”

Satoru shifted in his hold, a sign to be let go. Feeling anxiety ice his nerves, Suguru loosened his embrace. He prepared himself for Satoru’s rejection and scorn. He deserved it after all he put Satoru through. 

Instead, Satoru didn’t yell. He didn’t look upset whatsoever. He rolled his eyes with such fondness that Suguru felt his cheeks burn far hotter than the flames around them.

He cupped Suguru’s cheeks. 

“This is for being an asshole and leaving me alone for a year.”

Satoru slapped him. A red handprint immediately started to form on Suguru’s face. “I deserve that.” 

“You do.” Satoru then cupped his cheeks once more. His eyes shone in joy, but Suguru had no clue what was the cause of Satoru’s happiness. Is it because he’ll be free of Suguru? It made sense if so. Suguru was a blight on Satoru’s future. He was horrible and selfish. Bad all around. Someone like him didn’t deserve to be around someone as perfect as-

 Satoru pressed his lips against his own. 

Oh . 

Before Satoru pulled away, Suguru melted into the kiss. Satoru let out a happy hum and wrapped his arms around Suguru’s neck. Neither of them cared about the sweat, blood, and dirt that covered the other. The kiss seemed to last for centuries despite being a few seconds. 

“That’s for staying.” Satoru whispered against Suguru’s lips. Both took in some much needed air, faces centimeters apart. “I’m not letting you leave.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Satoru.” He smiled into their next kiss, both of them suddenly insatiable now that they finally had a taste of the other. The months of loneliness and longing were over. Suguru didn’t feel lost anymore. He had Satoru and the others to help guide him down a new path. It would be a slow process, but Suguru wouldn’t be alone for a second of it. 

As their kisses got deeper, Suguru felt a hole within his soul, a hole he didn’t even realize he had, fill. He felt complete. 

The taste of a curse was vile. Curses taste like a rag used to clean up shit and vomit. He was the only person who knew the taste, calling it disgusting would be a massive understatement. No other sorcerer had the misfortune of knowing what a curse tastes like. Suguru had to be trained from a young age to swallow the putrid monsters. Overtime, he’s gotten used to the taste, but it was still as unpleasant as ever. 

The taste of Satoru couldn’t be more different.

Kissing Satoru was now Suguru’s favorite thing in the world. He tasted like mint, which made sense considering Satoru was always cold to the touch, and sugar, likely caused by Satoru’s infamous sweet tooth. Minty and sweet. It was Suguru’s new favorite flavor, and he was content if that’s the only thing he tastes for the rest of his life. 

When they finally separated, Satoru placed his head in the crook of Suguru’s neck, the white-haired teen’s favorite spot. Suguru could feel Satoru smiling against his neck. “Heh. You like me~”

“Maybe a little.” Suguru smiled in turn. 

“So are we boyfriends now? ‘Cause I will kick your ass if you friendzone me.” 

A warmth Suguru had never felt before bloomed in his chest. “If that’s what you want, then I’d be happy to start courting you.”

“Pfft. Courting? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?” Satoru teased. It felt so familiar that Suguru couldn’t help but hold Satoru even closer. The other wiggled until his lanky body was fully seated in Suguru’s lap. “I think we should call ourselves something.”

“Do you not like the term boyfriend? We can label ourselves as partners or something else you’re more comfortable with if that’s the case. I can’t think of the terms beside partner or lover, but I’m sure there are others we can look into.”

“Nah. All those sound fine actually. We can be all of the above, including being best friends because no one is allowed to take that spot. Though, you wanna know what I would love you to use to refer to our awesome new relationship?”

“What? Dumbass and Smartass?”

“The Strongest.” 

Suguru felt the warmth in his chest bloom once more. Tears pricked at his eyes, but his smile was so wide his cheeks hurt. “You sure you want to share that title again?”

“Mhm~ It’s lonely at the top, ya’know? You’re the only other person who understands me and can actually stand besides me as an equal. You deserve the title. I won’t let anyone take it away from you.” Satoru felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. “I think I’m going to pass out at this point, so gimme a goodnight kiss.”

“We’ve been together officially for like ten minutes and you’re already that needy?”

“You love it though~”

“Yeah, I do.” Suguru kissed Satoru, fully intending on spoiling the other for the rest of time. A tiny hum came from Satoru as their lips met for the umpteenth time. Said happy hum that Satoru makes when kissed was now one of Suguru’s favorite sounds. 

“OH MY GOD.” 

Suguru jolted and parted from Satoru, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It seemed like Satoru’s warning of passing out wasn’t a joke, he was unconscious and didn’t react whatsoever to the loud noise. He looked towards the person who yelled and suddenly wanted to curl up and die. 

It was Shoko and Yaga. 

“When I told you to do magic, true love gay shit, I didn’t mean it literally!” Shoko crossed her arms with a huff. “So kissing sleeping beauty was what broke the spell, Mr. Loverboy?”

“Shoko, I am going to strangle you.” 

“With what arms?”

“...”

The girl cackled at Suguru’s lack of response. She went towards him and knelt by his side. Her demeanor turned softer. “He’s okay, right?”

Suguru nodded. “Yeah. He hasn’t eaten or slept in days, so his body probably had enough and forced him to rest.” 

“Good. He’ll need to take it easy for a while. His cursed energy is all over the place from the lack of food and sleep. Him hallucinating probably contributed to that too.” Shoko looked around the burning forest and whistled. Behind her, Yaga was commanding his army of cursed corpses to put out the fire, swearing like a sailor. “You two sure did a number on the forest. It’s going to take a while for it to grow back…And put it out. Got a firefighter curse?”

“...I actually do.” He ignored her laughs to summon a giant elephant curse. It had several trunks and stood on two dinosaur-like legs. Suguru had found it near an abandoned water canal, emptied out after several people drowned in one night. The curse had been apparently killing any person, mostly delinquents, who tried to explore the canal. He commanded the curse to spray geysers of water over the forest. Each trunk helped extinguish the flames even faster. 

Once the fire was fully extinguished, Yaga made his way to Suguru. He crossed his arms and glowered at them through his sunglasses. 

“You and Satoru will replant the forest as much as you can after you both are recuperated.”

“Anything else, sensei?”

“You and Satoru will have detention for a month.”

“WHAT?!

“HAH! HAVE FUN IN DETENTION, LOSER!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP, SHOKO!”

“You kids will be the death of me…”

.

.

.

TWO YEARS LATER

.

.

.

“Oi, Suguru!”

“Hm?”

“Have you seen Gumi? We’re playing hide and seek and I can’t find him for the life of me!”

“Nope!” The giggling head of spiky hair proved otherwise, but Suguru said nothing. Nanako and Mimiko, the girls Yaga found in a village two years ago, were brushing and braiding his hair as he lounged on a chair by the pool. His girls wouldn’t be here without Principal Yaga, who he now held a deep appreciation for. Back then, with Suguru, Nanami, and Satoru barred from doing missions until they recovered, Yaga had taken on the brunt of missions for them. When he came back one day with two, terrified girls, Suguru took it upon himself to take care of them, considering that Satoru had his hands full with Megumi and Tsumiki. It had taken a very long time for the girls to trust someone other than Suguru, but they had shown tremendous progress. While they were wary of all adults, the girls had warmed up to Satoru’s kids fairly quickly. The four of them bonded over having idiots adopt them, gossiping about how Suguru couldn’t cook to save his life or how Satoru couldn’t read them bedtime stories without laughing or pointing out the plot holes. According to Megumi, who was the youngest yet had the most… creative insults, Satoru and Suguru were ‘dumber than rocks because they can’t figure out how to make pancakes and I bet rocks can figure it out if they were alive and had hands, and rocks look cool while they look like old people’.

The kids were terrors, but Suguru and Satoru adored them nonetheless. Currently, they were at a beach house that Satoru had bought on a whim one day. It was grand and luxurious, but with too many hiding places for someone as adept at hiding as Megumi. He took hide-and-seek far too seriously, but it was worth it to see the smile on his normally grumpy face. Tsumiki was on his lap, painting Suguru’s nails a bright blue color, and he had no intentions of taking it off afterwards. 

“You sound suspicious…” Satoru placed a hand on his hip.

“Whatever do you mean, Satoru? I’m just relaxing with the girls.” Suguru replied with a mischievous smirk. “How long have you been searching?”

“Two hours and thirty one minutes.” 

Suguru barked out a laugh from Satoru’s dead-serious tone. He could see the beginnings of genuine anxiety form in Satoru, so he decided to give him a break. “That’s such a shame. I was planning on ordering from that place that sells ginger chicken meatball hotpot. I guess we’ll have to try cooking something her-”

“NO!” Megumi popped his head underneath Suguru’s lounge chair. “Get the ginger!”

Satoru never fully recovered from the cursed soul’s psychic attack. His nerves were always in a state of being shot and frazzled. While Satoru’s personality was still intact, he was much more prone to act irritable and impulsive. He was also forgetful over the simplest of things and would meltdown if someone didn’t help remind him. Suguru would need to talk with Megumi about perhaps easing up when it came to hide-and-seek, considering how disheveled Satoru looked. With a relieved sigh, Satoru walked over and plucked Megumi from his hiding spot. For once, Megumi didn’t try to kick Satoru, letting himself be held. Suguru guessed it was due to how perceptive the little boy was. He likely noticed how stressed out and panicked Satoru was. Visibly relaxing with Megumi in his arms, Satoru finally noticed the makeover the girls were giving Suguru. 

“Lookin’ good, Suguru!”

“Of course I look good. I have the best stylists in Japan.” Suguru replied easily. He felt his heart warm when he saw the proud smiles on Nanako and Mimiko’s faces. Tsumiki also shone like the sun with her grin, but she refused to take her focus away from Suguru’s nails. 

“Maybe I can get an appointment-”

Before Satoru could finish his sentence, he snapped his head to the sky and placed Megumi on the ground. “Get inside. Now. Stay in your rooms and don’t come out until one of us says so.”  His tone left no room for arguments or questions. Tsumiki, the eldest of the group, took Megumi’s hand and nodded at Satoru. She helped the twins to the house, giving the two a thumbs-up of reassurance. 

Suguru stood up from his chair, trying to see whatever Satoru was seeing. “What’s going on-”

Once again they were interrupted. 

An arrow the size of a person appeared from the sky. Satoru had activated his Infinity, preventing the arrow from falling. With far better control of his technique. Satoru carefully lowered the arrow until it was floating in his palm. When his Six-Eyes detected no hidden threats, Satoru allowed the arrow to make contact with his hand.

“What the hell is that?” Suguru stared at the object in awe. It was made entirely out of metal, covered in intricate carvings that looked to be handmade. 

There was a note attached. 

Satoru and Suguru glanced at each other. The arrow wasn’t to harm anyone, but send a message. It was quite the unorthodox way to do so. Satoru placed the arrow on the chair Suguru had been relaxing in. The note attached looked to be taken from an ancient scroll. It wasn’t made of paper but papyrus, a material that hadn’t been used in centuries.

The message itself was the oddest of all. 

GOJO SATORU AND GETOU SUGURU,

I AM SURE YOU REMEMBER OUR BRIEF MEETING IN SENDAI. OR HAVE AT LEAST HEARD OF MY REAPPEARANCE. REST ASSURED, I DO NOT ATTEND ON ATTACKING YOU SORCERERS, HOWEVER ANNOYING YOU CAN BE. 

THIS LETTER IS A SUMMONS OF SORTS. REFUSE TO COME, AND I WILL TAKE THAT AS A BLATANT INSULT. I’M NOT ASKING, BUT COMMANDING IT. THERE IS DISCUSSION TO BE HELD ABOUT A THREAT THAT IS ON THE HORIZON. WE HAVE A MUTUAL INTEREST IN PROTECTING WHAT IS OURS, SO I HOPE YOU CAN SEE HOW SERIOUS THE SITUATION IS. THE THREAT GROWS BY THE DAY AND I MUST ADMIT THAT MY MIGHT ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN BATTLING OR GOING TO WAR. MY RESURRECTION WAS HIDDEN BECAUSE I DESIRED IT TO BE SO. MY DESIRE TO FIGHT HAS EBBED. I AM WILLING TO FORM A TRUCE OF SORTS. HOWEVER, MY MERCY WILL ONLY GO SO FAR. DO NOT CROSS ME AND I WILL NOT CROSS YOU. 

IN EIGHT YEARS TIME, A CURSE USER AND THEIR ENTOURAGE OF SPECIAL GRADE DISASTER CURSES WILL ARRIVE. THERE ARE DETAILS I WILL NOT DIVULGE IN. THERE IS RISK TO REVEALING SUCH INFORMATION, AND I WOULD BE A FOOL TO DESCRIBE EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE. 

I WILL WAIT FOR ONE FORTNIGHT. COME WHEN THE SUN HAS FRESHLY RISEN. FAIL TO ARRIVE AFTER THIS TIME, AND I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN MYSELF. I ALSO EXPECT YOU NOT TO INFORM YOU PATHETIC ELDERS ABOUT THIS. THE ONLY OTHER PEOPLE I WILL ALLOW TO COME IS KENTO NANAMI AND IERI SHOKO. ANYONE ELSE WILL BE KILLED ON SIGHT. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING. 

BELOW ARE THE DIRECTIONS TO THE MEETING SITE. 

DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME. 

“Sukuna wrote us a letter.” Suguru whispered. The memories of his third-year of high school came flooding back in. “Do you truly believe it's just a summons and not a hidden murder attempt?”

“No. He’s telling the truth.” Satoru said with such certainty that it caught Suguru off guard. He gripped the note in his hand, scanning the directions Sukuna had left. They were vague, but Satoru was familiar with the shrine Sukuna had mentioned. “We’ll have to ask Nanami or something to babysit for a day. I’ll request a day off for the both of us-”

“You are seriously considering going?”

“Duh. What? Are you scared~” 

“As if. Let’s meet the asshole.” 

“There’s nothing to worry about! Sukuna sounds like he retired from being a genocidal maniac. And we’re the strongest so he doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

“Yeah. We are the strongest.”

“Always will be.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #itadori yuuji #ryomen sukuna #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #jjk choso #nanami kento #todo aoi #shoko ieiri #jjk yuuji #kenjaku #yaga masamichi #Cursed Guardians Fic #CG fic #jjk fic #stsg

[peachywritesstuff]

Imma say my thoughts/opinions on the situation and then imma bounce off of tumblr for a hot minute.

First thing I would like to say is that I am staying NEUTRAL. GRAY.SWITZERLAND. IN.THE.MIDDLE. and my thoughts will explain WHY I am remaing neutral. I am not someone who is faking just so I can secretly defend Percy.THAT IS NOT THE CASE!!!

#1. The slur

It's pretty obvious that he said it's clear as a blue sky. I frankly don't know the c-word or know what it means but I have learned that is somthing revolving around Canada and how it's very normalized to say which is sad.

#2. The r- /sa allegations

I am going to try my best to be sensitive as possible with my words with this part.This is where I am very lost. 1. I saw someone say (dont remember who) that dates don't matter when they come to victims coming out with sa or r- but they do. Especially if its a celebrity. This isn't just regular twitter drama this is something very serious that has a lot of 'evidence' (I will explain why I put that in air quotes) And at this rate authorites have(or will) already gotten involved and if this goes into to court they will ask for dates this occurred and if they can't be properly backed up that lead to something else like defamation. No amount of times I re-read all the tweets with all the pictures and text messages will make me feel any less lost. Yes everything is there and it makes Percy look like a very bad person but at the same time....it's all so blended together?? Idk how to explain it. Some of the text messages that i have seen is to fumbled and mushed together like I'm lost with all the ages this happened and apparently Canada has the 5 year law relating to minors???

#3. The nudes

Some of them honestly look like he took them when he himself was a minor which kinda sucks for everybody else who had been spreading his nudes (actual nudes) everywhere on Twitter. Still doesn't make it ok for him to send them to minors ( allegedly)it ALSO doesnt make it ok to release his all over the internet. Because that looks bad for the people spreading them becuase 1. Someone from Percy's team is watching. Do yall not think they are ignoring this? With so much out already I highly doubt they are. They will find people spreading his nudes around just because no words have been spoken to us doesn't mean nothing is happening. And if I wanna butt in this part the ones with him on the toilet and bed honestly look like some teenage boy doing something stupid. However we don't know the context behind those nudes just one where he took a shit at his new apartment (which that one really looks like he was being really stupid but who uses the bathroom naked?????)

#4. Him staying silent is guilt.

This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. He isn't saying anything until he has a lawyer and his team can make up a proper statement. That situation is out of his hands now he no longer has control over his social media.

#5. The 'Evidence'

I will explain why i put evidence in quotations. Half of the evidence is coming from anonymous,and faceless accounts which will be useless in court becuase they cannot verify if they already have them printed out they cannot know who wrote those allegations. If they find the person who wrote those allegations this is a chance they dont want to testify and if those people are real or not. Being a faceless account in a situation like this is kind of iffy but I can get why you don't want people to know you said that stuff. The evidence keeps changing every hour and one minute is this but then actually it's this or wait it's that.

I am trying to think from the pov of the victims and I would honestly be terrified of thousands of people coming at me asking all types of questions but everything is all over the place. The right thing for the victims to do is to step away from social media, sit down and organize everything and make sure everything they have can fall back on something. What is on Twitter is just..... evidence thrown up together.

#6.the vicims

I have been looking on Twitter and learned the victims are acting....odd? Not all of them. One of them made a tiktok about how they canceled a Netflix star in 9 days into 2023 and another one commented "yeah we did that". Idk about yall but that's weird. Sounds like their flexing??? You don't flex about a rapist. Especially with what they did to you.

Next, one of them threaten another person saying she will find where she live and for her saftey she better leave her alone. But then she tweets how she was going to (legally) do it but they messages she sent to the girl was coming off very threatening. She wasn't threatening to kill idk why people are thinking that but she was threatening the girl and she was obviously going to do something. She claims the person was spaming her but the person supposedly spaming her said she was just saying Percy was innocent. Idk if she said that in one text or multiple. I get how she was angry I really do but the way she pharsed it only made herself look more bad.

Third, the same girl(victim) from the pervious paragraph has tweeted in the past about Wednesday and has talked about it not about Percy,but about Wednesday and her mothers relationship. What confuses me is that he has (allegedly) r-/sa this girl but she proceeds to watch the show he has a decent amount of scenes in? Then, according to one of the tweets,20h before the allegations rose she was tweeting about how she gets told she looks like a lot like Wednesday. Idk could be a coincidence, could not be. WE DO NOT KNOW.

#7. Time

It has not been a fully 47 hours since this stuff came out. People are automatically expecting a response from Percy is beyond delusional. I think we all woke up to this so and had a chaotic morning (ik I did) he can not defend himself yet because of his legal team possibly taking over his socials. It will be awhile until we hear something which is why the good half of people are waiting for his side to come out before deciding futher of their place on the situation. I know everybody is waiting impatiently but it's gonna be a while.

#8. Throwing the r word around.

I don't like how everyone is throwing that word around. Calling people who try to remain neutral apologist r- and saying that to basically anyone who wants to think logically. First off nothing has been proved he done anything. Don't be fooled I am equally as disgusted as you are but this is all coming from Twitter. Yes the victims had no where else to go because they went to the police and they did nothing but this is all coming from twitter. No spare videos of anything but him saying the slur,just screenshots and words. We don't even know if the evidence can be used in court guys.

I'm trying to be logical about the whole thing,and I am pointing out stuff that has stook out to me. After this I am keeping my mouth shut and watching from the sidelines.

There is so much more I want to say but it's almost 1am where I am at and I'm tired. If the allegations are true my heart goes out to the victims. If it's not,then even more hell is gonna break loose. Until we can see Percy's side there is nothing else we can do but wait. I am just so sad about this whole thing and wish that everything isn't true but it's really not looking good for him. Only time will tell with this. I hope my way of saying things did not offend any of you and if they did I am truly sorry. I'm taking a risk and leaving my messages opened but please tell me your opinions kindly. I have told mine with minimal to no violence I would like to have the same option when expressing yalls with me.

The last thing I will say is that Twitter is a mess. Idk what to believe anymore. Stuff keeps changing and it gets more confusing. This all just needs to be settled outside of Twitter. I'm sad the victims had to resort to this route but everything is a mess and it's too confusing and I won't believe or side with anyone until an official statement is out. Not something from Twitter.

Hope yall have a good day or night guys :) make sure yall eat well and drank some water. To my followers, idk if I will be back to posting maybe I will maybe I won't ,Xavier Thorpe was quite the reason I started back writing and with him gone all of that motivation is just gone now. I'm sorry to yall becuas I feel like I disappointed yall cuz all fo you were looking forward to my stuff but until futher notice, I will be off of Twitter,and semi off of Tumblr.

Peaches Out ✌🏽❤️

#percy hynes white #xavier thorpe x reader

[whisperingrockandroll]

Ranking Aquato family members by how likely they are to commit tax fraud (least to most)

8 - Razputin Aquato

Of all the members of the Aquato Clan, Raz is currently the only member confirmed to be working for the government. He's the absolute model of a federal employee. The kind of agent they would make naively optimistic 50s movies about. The kind of hero who is everything J Edgar Hoover was not. Honest, caring, loyal, hardworking, excited to chase the call of adventure alongside his heroes, who are also employees of the federal government. He's not a slave to authority, but he could best be described as "Lawful Good" in D&D terminology. As such, Raz would never commit tax fraud. He only wants to help people, rescue their brains, and occasionally commit arson and kill animals. But only when its cool. Also, he hates math.

Likelihood: Never.

7 - Dion Aquato

Dion is a contentious character. Some people hate him because of the way he bullies and insults Raz. Others like him because they see past that and see him as depressed and anxious teenager who's taking his insecurities and pain out on his little brother out of jealousy and the fear of his entire world changing around him. But we're not here to talk about that: we're here to ask if he'd commit tax fraud. The answer is he's simply not smart enough to. We're talking about a guy who heard from his toddler-aged brother that real living human beings reproduced via eggs. He simply isn't smart enough to figure it out. He'll either need a caregiver or spouse to file his taxes for him, or he'll download a terrible app on his phone that he can just barely navigate and might still have to go through an audit just because he got stuff wrong.

Likelihood: Too dumb to commit tax fraud. Even if he were smart enough, he'd probably get frustrated and bored very quickly.

6 - Augustus Aquato

Auggie won't lie to you, the thought of cheating on his taxes has definitely crossed his mind. There's a lot of overhead on a circus, even a small one. With how much the family struggles financially, the temptation has always been there to write off a few fake expenses. But he never has, because he's a responsible father and husband, and would never want to endanger his family by putting their finances and freedom in jeopardy.

Likelihood: Highly unlikely. Good dad energy too strong.

5 - Mirtala Aquato

The member of the family we know the least about. She seems kind enough, though often times sarcastic and smart-alikey. A spirited and adventurers young lass, she might find certain parts of the Internal Revenue Code to be arbitrary, annoying or overly cumbersome. The thought might occur to her to commit tax fraud, but its doubtful she'd ever go all the way through with it. The potential jail time and fines would likely be enough to make her decide against it.

Likelihood: Might do it under pressure, but very unlikely otherwise.

4 - Donatella Aquato

A very passionate Italian mother, often times theatrical. Also very uncool about guilt-tripping her kids! Not cool, Donna! Though in fairness it's treated as a gag, and seems to just be her way of burning off the conflicting emotions she's going through. Still, sometime in the VERY near future she needs to give her son a hug and an apology! Moving on to the tax fraud, she's most likely faced the same temptation as her husband, but likely has weaker moral reservations. Donatella strikes me as the rebellious type, the kind who'd angrily stare down the head of a government agency for talking shit to her. Were it not for Augustus reminding her of the dangers, she'd probably get "creative" with her return filings.

Likelihood: Possibly. Similar motivations to Augustus but less moral apprehension. It'd take some pressure before she gives in.

3 - Frazie Aquato

She's a bitch but I like her. She throws shit around and says fucked up evil things. But she still clearly has a heart, can have a pleasent conversation with Raz, and even admits she misses him. Like Dion, she's a dumb teenager with issues, she's just slightly less douchey about it. Slightly. Would she commit tax fraud? This girl breaks into private government property, tosses pinecones at people and skulks around in trees like a spider monkey.

Likelihood: Would commit tax fraud, but doesn't make enough money. She lives in the woods.

2 - Queepie Aquato

This child is an agent of chaos. He runs around in the forest at the age of like 4 and is under no threat by wild animals. If anything, the wild animals are scared of him. His mind conjures up insane and silly conspiracies about psychics that he doesn't even believe and tells his older brother just to fuck with him. This kid will claim his toys and dependents to help fund his pirate radio station.

Likelihood: Already commiting tax fraud with his co-conspirator Morris Martinez.

1 - Nona Aquato

Nona has been committing massive tax fraud for decades, but only by accident. She's been filing as her dead sister, whose identity she unwittingly stole. By now, she's in her golden years, and I'm sure she figures it's too late to stop now. Might as well go the extra mile and fudge some of those numbers. Especially since she recently reconnected with her friend Cassie O'Pia, infamous criminal counterfitter. The stuff Cassie knows about cooking books will be instrumental to her fraudulent claims.

Likelihood: Serial tax scammer

#Psychonauts #The Flying Aquatos #Aquato Family #Frazie Aquato #Dion Aquato #augustus aquato #donatella aquato #queepie aquato #mirtala aquato #razputin aquato #nona aquato #lucrecia mux #pn2 spoilers

[absolutebl]

Hii

Thank you for so much info and effort in your posts ✨

I have a question: which couples (main or not) feature men with facial hair?

Facial Hair in BL

OMG that is a so rare and I have never gotten this ask before.

I'm posting an answer but this is something I do not track, so I will need help. Keep an eye on the comments for the ones I missed.

BL's with facial hair

HIStory 2: Right or Wrong - this is an age gap romance and I suspect it was done, in part, to age up the protag, this is usually contrary to BL casting needs.

The Immeasurable (Taiwan), but that's a short.

I Feel You Linger in the Air, briefly and badly. Keep Thailand away from fake hair in general (their wig game is atrocious).

Present Perfect, but it's kinda for travel reasons.

Tonhon Chonlatee the sides. Man has it been a long time since I thought about that BL. (Did GMMTV let Mike have facial hair in 2gether too? I can't remember.)

Given's sides. Although nothing much happened with them.

Ossan's Love (SIGH) the love triangle

I feel like I have a memory of Earth, of EarthMix having fuzz on his face at some point. Seems like a sin since his angles are so good.

Our Days maybe?

The coach in the original Waterboyy? But do we want to remember (or even think about) that?

More?

Korea is mildly obsessed with jaw lines so I highly doubt we will ever get it from them, unless they go for a true BL historical. Even then it will be a side and they rarely do sides... so unlikely.

So far as I know, nothing from Vietnam. But one of the first Tein installments might have had something in an alt timeline.

Philippines is not unlikely. In fact, if I missed any major ones it's probably from there.

BL facial hair right now?

The sides in My Dear Gangster Oppa.

Upcoming Taiwanese BL VIP Only looks like is has a main with facial hair.

I mean there are some wisps on Jimmy in Last Twilight but do we call that facial hair or laziness?

Which should tell you this post is dated late 2023 and may not be updated after that date.

(source)

#BLs with facial hair #gonna need your help with this one #My Dear Gangster Oppa #VIP Only #HIStory 2: Right or Wrong #The Immeasurable #i feel you linger in the air #Present Perfect #tonhon chonlatee

[madara-fate]

idk I feel the last really did naruto’s character a great disservice. him not understanding the differences between materialistic love and romantic love at age 19 doesn’t make sense when he understood that sakura romantically loves sasuke even at age 12 when sasuke was in the hospital. unless i missed something and he equated the two loves to be the same thing at age 12 as well?

That is also a criticism that I had with the movie. Naruto clearly understood how Sakura felt about Sasuke, especially when he spoke about it following her fake confession; he obviously knew that her feelings ran deeper than what one would feel for a love for ramen or other materialistic commodities. It's the same thing for the love between his parents, I highly doubt that he'd smile like that if his mother just told him that her love for his father was materialistic:

Or when she told him that she loved him, there's no way he could have thought that it was comparable to his love for ramen:

And when he was explaining how happy he was that Kushina loved him and that he was her child (this obviously wasn't romantic love from Kushina but it was maternal):

Did he really think that her love for him was materialistic? Sorry but I'm just not buying it. This whole idea of Naruto not understanding the difference between materialistic and romantic love just seems like a convenient asspull to explain why Naruto didn't do anything about Hinata's confession. However, there were other and far better explanations they could've chosen which would've made more sense.

#Naruto Uzumaki #Kushina Uzumaki

[wanderingmind867]

I read the first, I don't know, 30 or 40 Thor comics once. Probably a few years ago during my last comics hyperfixation. What I do remember from it is that the original Thor comics gave Thor an alter ego in the form of Dr. Don Blake. And for whatever reason, I kind of like that.

I also think the origin itself is fascinating. Dr. Don Blake is a probably 20 to 30 year old doctor with a limp leg (although he could be in his 40s, I wouldn't remember if they gave him an age) who travels to Norway on vacation. While in Norway, he stumbles upon a cave with a walking stick and realizes he can transform into Thor using this walking stick (really a transformed version of the hammer Mjolnir). And I think it's a shame nobody ever goes back to Dr. Blake. Because think about that origin. When I do, it see only two possibilities, both ripe with interesting story possibilities.

Option 1: Dr. Blake is an ordinary human who just happened to find Thor's hammer in its secret hiding place. This would be interesting because it would mean Thor is kind of possessing Doctor Blake's body whenever they transform. It reminds me of the Kane Chronicles, and how humans could channel the spirit of a god and share a body and mind with them. This option really reminds me of that.

Option 2: Equally as interesting is option 2, the option I think they went with. In option 2, Thor is exiled from Asgard. Odin erases his memories and puts him on earth under a new name and identity. Namely, the identity of doctor don blake. For this option, I am assuming Odin would have given Doctor Blake original memories (because I highly doubt Odin would put turn Thor into a baby and wait around for 20-30 years to bring him back to Asgard). But if he didn't turn Thor into an actual baby, that means he probably gave Don Blake (this 20 or 30 year old doctor) a set of fake memories. Think about that. Don Blake presumably had memories of a childhood never lived, of a family that never was, of a life that never truly was. When Don Blake learned he was just created to serve as a vessel for Thor, that must have really hurt. I bet an existential crisis occurred that day.

Considering Don Blake had an established medical practice and probably had his own set of memories distinct from that of Thor, I imagine Don Blake and Thor really were like two seperate people sharing one body. I imagine them as two distinct people, at any rate. And it's a shame nobody has done anything with Don Blake or this whole sharing a body concept since the 70s or 80s (it feels like). There's so much potential here, if only people had stopped to realize it.

#marvel #marvel comics #marvel universe #It's a missed opportunity #I'll tell you that much #thor #thor odinson #thor marvel #marvel thor #don blake #dr don blake #I know I wrote a lot #but I couldn't help it #this is an interesting concept #the kane chronicles #comics #I mentioned the kane chronicles once #so I'm tagging it #comic books

[sparkie96]

“Age Difference AU: How Leon Met Chris” Chapter 9: “Reunion”

It was dark and eerily silent, Chris hearing his own pulse in his ears along with the breathing of his teammates as they moved across the field between the Science Building and the Gymnasium, scanning the perimeter. The campus was usually teeming with life, but now? That the blue fog had cleared? Deathly silent. Most likely, a majority of the students had been infected and were now shambling around the campus as members of the living dead.

Chris just prayed Leon wasn’t among them.

He hoped he wasn’t, considering Ark was apparently alive and was roaming the campus with Moira and Elliot, having texted Finn to tell the other man where they were hiding out. They couldn’t hide in Leon and Ark’s dorm due to some “strange woman” gassing the room and taking Sherry and Jake, having had intended to do the same to Leon.

Chris couldn’t help but wonder if this was connected to Lucas’s return. Why the man had been so adamant about Chris protecting Leon and Sophie without getting close to either of them, especially Leon. Because doing so would “put a target on Leon’s back” as Lucas had put it. Though, that didn’t seem to matter when Lucas faked his death, went after the same people who made BOWs and then attempted to sneak back into his family’s lives.

Now, some woman and Lucas’s boss had taken Sherry and Jake and were now looking for Leon. All thanks to Lucas Kennedy.

“Captain, I got movement over here.” Piers whispered, motioning to the windows of the Gymnasium, though the figures were clearly shambling.

Though, judging by the gunshots they heard, it wasn’t just bioweapons inside, “Move in!” Chris commanded as they made their way inside, “I highly doubt zombies know how to use guns.”

“Hopefully whoever is firing at them does.” Finn said, “Hopefully it’s not Ark. He’s not the best at the Shooter Games.”

Chris listened closely to the gun being used as they approached, taking down several BOWs along the way, “I know that gun. It’s modified and makes a certain sound…and usually there are two of them…”

“Who are they?” Piers couldn’t help but ask curiously.

(Read the rest below)

#ao3feed #Age Difference AU #How Leon Met Chris #Chreon #Leon S. Kennedy #Chris Redfield #Lucas Kennedy #Ada Wong #Piers Nivans #Finn Macauley #Chapter Update #Resident Evil AU

[thefirstknife]

have we heard about the Veil before? i feel like ive heard in mentioned on lore before

Not in any official capacity. It's been a speculative fan-thing for ages due to this concept art:

This was concept art revealed in 2013 (!). The final picture features triangles and whatever that thing is with the triangles which people have been speculating about for years about being a "Darkness race." The sort of a smoky thing. This concept most likely turned into Taken.

I'm not sure when the name "the Veil" for a supposed "Darkness race" came along and why, but it became super popular to speculate about it and call it "the Veil" around Shadowkeep because of the veiled statue and the lore book being called "Unveiling."

Since then, people have been quite obsessed with the idea that we will get a new enemy type and that it will be "Darkness people" and that they're the enemies that drive the Pyramid ships. Which now really doesn't make any sense because there is no single "Darkness race" really. The Witness' origins notwithstanding right now, since we know nothing about it. This bit of concept art (reddit thread) that was uploaded and then removed also popped up a lot in theories. Link directly to the reuploaded images on imgur. This was fairly peculiar, but honestly now? I think these were concepts for what would eventually become Tormentors. They literally have no heads which is also the most prominent unnerving feature of the Tormentor.

The Pyramids are not populated by any specific species, as we now know that they are ships operated by disciples, each of whom is of a different species. If the Darkness has its own specific people, it's keeping them safe and sound somewhere and they don't seem likely to show up as enemies. It also doesn't fit the Darkness philosophy.

Or rather, it doesn't fit the game's philosophy. I highly doubt that there is an entire species that is born to be followers of Darkness. To become a follower is a choice. Unless we're talking about stuff like the Taken or disciples having a "uniform" where different species become one with the Darkness and start looking similar, but we wouldn't call them by a separate name again as that would just be another form of Taken. With the fan-speculations on a "Darkness race," they specifically always talked about how that needs to be a completely brand new thing and not just reskinned (Taken) or corrupted existing enemy (Scorn).

There also used to be some fake leaks fueling these theories by claiming that "the Veil Darkness race" is coming to Beyond Light. There was a really elaborate "leak" about how Beyong Light will be about us fighting the Veil on Europa. That definitely made people super invested in the idea that "the Veil" is the official name for Pyramid people. And that there ARE Pyramid people in the first place. Which doesn't seem to be the case.

All in all, outside of veiled statues (unclear what they represent) and the lore book being called "Unveiling," there hasn't been anything lore-wise on a "veil" in the game (unless we count items like Apotheosis Veil). This is the first time capitalised "the Veil" has been mentioned and remotely explained and it's specified to be an object connected to the Traveler. A huge departure from any fan speculations over the years. Of course, we could still be surprised with some new reveal about the Veil come Lightfall, given that we literally have zero information outside of what Rasputin told us today.

What to take from this? Don't latch onto concept art, especially not concept art from before the game released.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the seraph spoilers #the veil #ask #long post

[seancamerons]

If you're really gonna defend jt, don't talk to me about it. You're gonna be blocked. I don't wanna get involved. I don't give a shit if anyone is acting like a poor sport or a baby, I have no sympathy. It's giving the tiniest violin concert 🎻like by a cricket or an insignificant ant. You're entitled to your opinion but dissing Britney to get your opinion across? Ew, shame on you. This is her story, and this was her life and reality from her point of view.

If you're in your deluded elevated opinion of him, and Britney is "lying" or acting like she's a perpetual victim, just no just know I don't care what you say bc he did too. He might very, if I remember correctly, did too for OVER 10 years. Shade, the interviews, the cheating in the relationship, but karma always has a way of coming back around, and now he's finally being called out for his role. Good, finally he ain't so perfect bc he did a bang up job of helping or aiding in destroying her reputation before the 'dark ages' of the pre-blackout era in the media with his "side".

There is 2 sides to every story he had the upper hand or whatever for years why is it such a problem for her to open up about her side of the story she didn't have the opportunity to share then? I highly doubt she's lying. Why would she? He lied. Now hes trying to do damage control? His wife being all kumbyah lets us evolve, lol yikes. This ain't all about Jessica. It aint 7th heaven youre not on that level.

A lot of shit happened without him, and during her relationship with him, he said he's more talented ? Well my not friend, that is a farce.

Riddle me this, didn't he have to sell his music? Britney has all hers. So that is bold words to the Justin fan in my comment.

Leave me the f alone. I'm living my life, and it's Britneys turn to talk so let her if it doesn't matter to him, then he hasn't any room to talk. So please kindly shut up about him. Bye. Only God knows the whole truth. From here on out you speak ill of Britney Spears and talk shit you're blocked. I will not tolerate and won't entertain. I'm team Britney ill always stand by her, he hurt my fave she probably hurt his feelings too, I have more belief in her than him. He isn't Mr. Hotshit he profits off being this gilded baby in all aspects persona and its wrong. F him. A Justin timberlake fan in 2023 though? Can't relate. He lost my love when he broke up with nsync and burned bridges, and hurt Britney emotionally and publicly. The nerve of this man and his inflated ego, worst than the former 45th president you know in all hia fake tan cheeto dusted glory and lying forever and playing the victim all of his life.

Byebyebye!👋

🙈🙉🙊

#britney spears #anti justin timberlake #a warning #if you don't have anything nice to say youre blocked

[lemonhemlock]

I really think some Green fans need to get real and realize the show will never portray a clearly young girl (we don't know the character's age but the actress was 15 years old during S1 filming - it's just vile to pretend her character was making everything up) lying about getting raped and setting poor Aegon up. Also, he was never confused when Alicent confronted him about what he had specifically done, in fact, the dialogue between them heavily implies this was not the first time this happened. He also never denied the accusation which I think he would've if the "it was a set-up" scenario was true. Anyway I doubt Dyana will knowingly be involved in the B&C affair either like some people from the other side keep hoping for. If she's going to provide information about the hour Helaena and her children are visiting Alicent or anything of the sort then it will likely be the some manipulation from Mysaria's part. I highly doubt Misaryia is going to say to Dyana "I know he wronged you and you want justice. How about we kill his heir?" and she'll be like "yeah let's do that". Her being a part of B&C is the second worst arc she could possibly have after the fake rape plot some are suggesting (or just as bad) because in no way one can ever claim that an innocent child getting beheaded in front of his mother would be an epic revenge story the audience will be cheering. I don't believe the writers will choose either of these two options.

yeah, the reason aegon turns the waterworks on and looks confused is because mummy hit him, not because mummy unjustly accused him. i realise some fans are hoping against hope and there's nothing wrong with daydreaming about a perfect pro-green world (i wish LOL), but, unfortunately, there's no "fixing" the dyanna situation. portraying young girls as manipulative liars when it comes to rape is just way more damaging than portraying a rapist prince on screen. we need to believe women and normalize that in our media, not to give more ammunition to dismissive narratives.

if the writers, say, had a change of heart and realised the error of their ways (i know, bear with me) or regretted the lost opportunity they had with aegon or whatever else. AT MOST, they could maybe retcon the child fighting pits thing bc aegon is never actually shown in there, so, if they REALLY wanted, they could never mention it again and pretend it didn't happen. but dyanna already got a pretty emotional scene where she was scared out of her mind and pleading with alicent + aegon basically admitted his guilt in the very next scene, so there's not much to do about that, other than reshoot the episode or re-edit it to remove that sideplot, which is obviously never going to happen ever. also, say what you will, but it was a pretty big deal that alicent believed her, no questions asked, and provided her with contraception and financial compensation, instead of punishing her and going "nuh-uh, not MY son"

like, "house of the dragon fake rape plot angers SA survivors and women's rights organizations" is not a good headline to have unless their aim is to turn it into The Idol with dragons

the good news, though, is that aegon is not real, so, as beings who exist in three dimensional spaces & outside screen and paper, we can acknowledge it as a controversial writing choice, accept it as an L and just move on with our lives. you don't have to agree with it & there is ample room to critique it, but it's also time to (gently) advance with the five stages of grief. the damage is already done, i'm afraid, we just have to take it on the chin and carry on.

i also agree that dyanna actively participating in b&c would be a mistake and not smth aspirational for her character (i have already breached this topic in her tag for curious cats). but i'm not convinced i trust the writers 100% NOT to go down this path bc they have sure shown that they can have a very simplistic understanding of female badassery and emancipation sometimes, re: how rhaenys killing civilians doesn't matter. all the more frustrating, because, had they moved the set around a little, she could have flown out dramatically on meleys without killing anyone, while maintaining all the benefits of the scene. but it seems they're not immune to shock just for the sake of shock.

anyway, as with all speculation, i am simply just talking out of my arse right now and cannot judge any aspect of S2 without seeing it first. episodes can be filmed with more than one version for various plots and who knows what they'll choose in the end. dyanna's actress may be filming scenes, but do we have any assurance those scenes will even make it in the show? there's no certainty they won't end up cutting them and editing the episode around her. so she can act out the most Kill Bill variant of her character and by the time next year rolls around it's on the cutting room floor

#ask #anon #dyanna #aegon ii targaryen #i h8 this sideplot but the milk has already been spilled

[kithtaehyung]

Ryen maybe you (or maybe the comments as well?) can give me some advice? You seem like such a hard working/ diligent person with all of the things that you do so I’d thought I would ask you :) How are you able to do as much as you do with work and hobbies etc. I struggle to follow a routine and that makes time management a literal disaster. I kind of drift day by day and this has made me very depressed and someone who hasn’t accomplished anything. I am 22 but have no idea what I will do with my future and no career sounds appealing. I feel like I am too dumb to get another job so I’ve been stuck at the same dead end one for almost 6 years. I only go to work 2-3 days a week and the other days are filled with distractions. And the days I am off I stay in my room and don’t talk to any friends or family cause I don’t really have that many and it seems exhausting to go out. So I’m not very productive and I’m not proud of myself much either. How are you able to accomplish so much and have a lot of energy to do as much as you do? You probably get burnt out but how do you manage to actually get up and do it. Also sorry if this is a lot!

Hey, love🫂 as diligent as I may seem, there are definitely times where I find myself on the couch wondering where the time went🤣 it’s not always go go go for me, either! My body just tells my brain to chill for a gd second and then it listens (kinda.)

When you’re drifting, it’s normal to feel out of place or like you aren’t doing anything. Like you’re kinda just there and not gonna achieve anything fulfilling.

But some of the general advice that I learned to break those moments are these:

Motivation can only take you so far; discipline is what you need when you have nothing left. Yeah you can feel motivated and ride that wave, but what are you gonna do when it’s gone and you still need to do things? Well. Sometimes you just gotta push through. Do that workout you didn’t wanna do. Watch that YouTube tutorial you meant to watch but put off for later. Study for 2 full, meaningful minutes if you don’t think you can. Before you know it, you’re gonna look back at all these things and be glad you at least tried a little bit.

Just because you aren’t accomplishing anything big doesn’t mean you aren’t achieving anything. Need to wash up? Take a shower—done. Achievement! Wanna send a message to someone asking for advice? Done. You did it! The smallest things can amount to the biggest impacts.

This is gonna sound corny as fck, but believe in yourself. You are what you have at the end of the day. I highly encourage less talk about what’s stacked against you and what you don’t have, and more talk about how you’re gonna overcome that and what you can do or get better at. Fake confidence until you really feel it.

Do I mess up? Yeah. Do I doubt myself? All the fcking time lmfao. But guess what: I get over those thoughts and still tell myself that I can do it in the end. Whenever I made my checklist of shit to do for my online shop? “Believe in yourself” is one of the checkboxes. And it’s not being checked off until I really feel it—but I’m gonna get there. I have to, because if I don’t believe in myself then how the fck am I gonna keep going when I hit walls?

You’re at a beautiful age. Lots of time to figure shit out. Tbh 22 is when I had these same damn thoughts, too, and I did waste a lot of it by giving in to them and just thinking I wouldn’t amount to much. But one day, I decided that I didn’t like what direction my life was going. (Discipline got me through a lot of it tbh, so I would say swallow some hard truths and do your best to try and keep trying until you find something you like and that you know you can get good at.)

You can do it. Cherish life as it comes🤍

#sorry if this was too much😭 #i just wanted you to know that you have time #life doesn’t absolutely have to start in your 20s #you have time to figure it out #anon #*advice #mailbox💌 #long post