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#self-reblog for the morning crowd
suave-hogan · 1 year
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Making a few preparations for Martha March, so I don’t fall apart like last year
While doing so, I’d like to ask if I should bring Martha March to T¡itter, or any other platforms?
I’ve seen works even end up on ao3 so it’s already spread out a bit from insta and tumb|r
I’d also love any feed back about the event in general
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targaryenluvs · 3 months
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— A WHOLE NEW WORLD
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pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader
summary: in which you and percy navigate a whole other world, and encounter trials in the way.
warnings: angst, bullying mentions, teasing, physical violence courtesy of clarisse my bae, drowning, confessions, fluff, hugs, smooches, percy n you are a comedic duo i swear, basically a self insert, not proof read
wordcount: 5.7k
a/n: i’m insane, this is the longest thing ive ever written. so please reblog and interact <3
you’d grown up with the same stories percy had. the greek gods and goddesses, their lives and tales, their failures and secrets. what you didn’t expect was to be the child of one.
you, percy and grover were currently on a field trip, and you couldn’t have been happier. all around you was history, and you were fascinated by it all. breaking away from them, you viewed the tallest of statues and the intricate, taking your phone out secretly and snapping a photo to show your mother later.
you were dragged out of your fairytale by laughter, and percy’s scowl evident on his face as you made your way over. “i don’t know if you have a miserable home life or just enjoy being a bitch but this trip would be much more enjoyable without your annoying voice.” you sneered before shining a fake smile her way. percy’s laugh in your ear made you join in, but the reprimand afterwards dulled your mood.
you weren’t a big fan of bullies, especially when they targeted your friends. for some reason you obtained a boost of confidence and a need to protect your own friends from such people yet you couldn’t defend yourself on your best day.
the trio of you sat, eating your lunches, you were inhaling your favourite food much to the amusement of grover and percy. “i don’t think your food is running off y/n.” grover teased as you shoved his arm, “i know, but i’ve been waiting for so long, i didn’t eat anything this morning, i was too excited.” percy turned his head towards you, “you were excited?” you nodded, “for a museum?” you waved him off, returning to your food.
but not before nancy launched a sandwich percy’s way, you’d had enough, and so had he. the two of you got up despite grover’s protests, and somehow she ended up in the fountain, even though percy hadn’t touched her. you’d been lost in the crowd around the fountain and once you’d broken out you found percy on the ground.
“perce! percy are you okay?” you tried to shake him awake to no avail, so you did the next best thing, slapping him awake. twice should do it. his eyes opened, focusing in on you, “i’m here, i’m fine, i know you care about me.” relieved, yet annoyed you hit his shoulder before you and grover helped him up.
and when he did wake up he spoke about what he saw. on the walk to your hearing percy went into detail. and you couldn’t help but feel scared, what the hell was going on?
and the two of you stuck with the story of nancy throughout, feeling betrayed when grover went against you. your own parents were out of town and you were freshly kicked out of school, percy’s home was also your own. you prepared yourself before the two of you entered the apartment, gabe wasn’t exactly a sight for sore eyes.
and soon enough yourself, percy and his mother were headed for montauk. you’d left over twenty four messages for your parents but it seemed none of them had made their way through.
“so all the stories, they’re all true?” percy was fast asleep in the front seat, and the book in your hands wasn’t all that interesting. sally nodded, “i know it’s all a lot for the two of you to take in,” if percy was a demigod, then were you too? “what am i? who’s my parent then? are my parents my parents? am i adopted?” sally stopped at the intersection abruptly, turning towards you with a sad smile, “sweetheart, it doesn’t matter. your parents love you no matter what, i know it. you’ll learn everything with time, i’ll tell you more when we’re all inside okay?”
the water droplets on the window were plentiful, some big, some small, some new and others falling. the storm outside was looming, loud and dark, but it seemed to bring you comfort in all honesty, you loved the rain. and as you sat and drove all you could think of was your future, and what it had in store for you.
you’d been in the kitchen whilst listening into sally explain to percy about his parentage, the gods and goddesses. you were sure if you heard anymore you’d pass out. percy’s outburst led you back to them.
“well i’m not a baby! i know there’s no such thing as monsters, i know there’s no such thing as gods and i know for certain that there’s no such thing as demigods.” the hand on percy’s shoulder brought him back down, “percy, why would your mother lie to you? no one on this earth loves you more than her, i think we should listen.” his face was riddled with confusion, “you’re telling me you believe this crap?”
before the conversation could get heated, grover’s appearance interrupted. “what the hell are you doing here? how did you get here?” grover sighed, as much as he wanted to explain he needed you all to get moving, “i promise i’ll explain everything but somethings coming,” percy and yourself took a step back, “grover.”
“and i know that sounds really bad,”
“grover?” he brushed the two of you off, continuing to ramble at sally.
“but the important thing is not to panic—”
“i’m not panicking.” sally rested her hands on her hip, “great! i’m also definitely not panicking. i feel very good about how we’re doing so far—” you closed your eyes, maybe when you opened them it’d go away. “grover!” you and percy shouted out at the same time, “what?”
you pointed towards his legs as percy spoke up, “why is there half a goat in your pants?” his legs were bare, mist not around.
as if the day couldn’t have gotten any crazier or exhausting for you and percy grover all of a sudden showed up and you were all on the move. sally was punching the accelerator, whilst grover continued to explain, “what are you?” grover turned to face you, “i’m a satyr. and i’m your protector. i was assigned to you but we didn’t know that y/n was special like you, so i guess i’m sort of protecting you both.”
“you’re my protector? and what y/n doesn’t get one?” you laughed, “no offence but i think i’m alright perce. if you’re our protector than shouldnt you have protected us at school? against nancy?”
“i protect you against actual evil,” you snorted, “the only evil is nancy’s personality, that should count.” percy managed a smile at your words. “if i hadn’t gotten you kicked out of school, you’d have never survived the night. and what’s chasing us now would have found you there easily.” it was like a truckload of information all at once, you felt like you were in a movie.
“the mist. it’s the veil that hides the magical world from the human world. my legs. dodds’ wings. even dodds’ absence, but it isn’t supposed to hide things from me. that never happens. something powerful is at work here. the sooner we get you two to camp, the better off you’re… you told them about camp, right?” grover looked towards sally for an answer as you moved his hand away from your face. grover tended to move them around when talking about something he was passionate about.
“not yet, no.” sally shook her head as you smiled, “you’re early remember?”
“camp is a sanctuary for half-bloods.” great now you were going to a summer camp. the more he divulged the more you began to understand. you’d always been told you were special, percy especially. you should’ve known you were meant for more. demi gods were never safe, that was obvious by the huge monster behind the car.
“is that the minotaur?”
“once the attacks start, they never let up. okay? dodds was just the beginning.” you twisted your body to get another look at it, “okay well if we’re being chased than maybe less talking and more runnin, driving, whatever just go!” you shouted out, your heart was ramming against your chest, your hands felt warm and jittery. you needed to move, to do something, you hated just sitting and relying on a car. you zoned out in time for percy’s regular jokes.
“he is still wearing underpants.” you giggled at him, “i wonder what size.”
“the mythomagic cards were training. everything has been training for what’s still ahead of you, and i know wherever percy goes, you go.” you rolled your eyes, “i always hated those stupid cards, guess i should’ve played huh?” percy cocked his head, “what’s ahead of me? of us?”
“kids,” you all turned to sally, her knuckles were turning pale white, an unrelenting grip on the wheel, “hold on, please.” you clutched on to the seatbelt and seats as you all were jolted around, dodging a car and attempting to evade the minotaur, which wasn’t exactly all that easy as he rammed into the car, horns penetrating sallys window.
she fought for control, her foot pressing down on the accelerator before you all ended up crashing.
the ground was wet and mushy, you felt dirt gather underneath your fingertips as you crawled out of the car. you could see sally helping percy out as grover made his way out. your leg was aching, a shard of glass caused a gash in your thigh and dragging it along the floor hurt like a bitch, “ah, shit!” you rolled over onto your back.
percy’s eyes darted towards you the second you cried out, “y/n!” he dashed towards you, sally and grover in tow. “are you okay? what happened? where does it hurt?” his eyes were frantic and his hands unsure, the sight of you hurt was more than enough to worry him. “i’m fine, i just, if we take the shard out and tie something around then it’ll stop the bleeding right?”
percy shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head, hoping it would clear it out, the whole situation was already stressful but his best friend injured? an absolute nightmare. “i— i don’t know! mom! what do we do?” he shouted as sally grabbed your jumper from inside, “move aside percy, let me help.” he didn’t want to, percy wanted to stay right by your side, but he knew she could help you where he couldn’t.
the make shift tourniquet did the job thankfully, but you were in and out from the loss of blood, the last thing you recall was sally jackson in the hands of the minotaur, and suddenly, gone.
your voice was stuck, trapped in your throat. your eyes stung immensely, waterline flooded. she was family to you, one of the sweetest people, supportive. and just like that, erased, just dust. your eyes searched your surroundings for percy, to see him, to help him, but all you could view was darkness as it took you far away.
the last thing you’d heard was grover yelling out for the two of you, “stay awake! please!” his pleads were unmet, as you were whisked away to a world of sleep.
the light was harsh on your eyes having just woken up, at least your bed was comfortable. but you still had no clue where you were. your body was stiff, needing to move around. as you shuffled to sit a voice called out for you.
“y/n!” you turned to see percy peering through the window, a large smile on his face as he promptly ran inside to you. “percy.” his arms wrapped tightly around you, squeezing hardly. “you’re killing me here.” you croaked out as he let go, taking a step back.
“i’m sorry. do you need something? are you hungry?”
“that i am, where are we?”
“camp half-blood, welcome y/n l/n.” an older boy spoke up from the doorway with his arms crossed, leaning on the frame. “luke.” percy recognised the boy, which made you feel at ease, “hi luke.” he smiled, “hey, how are you feeling?” you sighed lifting the blanket up and resting your feet on the floor, attempting to rise from the bed. “like i need to walk a bunch, is there food around?”
luke nodded his head before signalling you to follow, “is your leg okay?” the pain had lessened since the initial hit but it was still sore, “i think i’ll be okay, might have a limp. i can be a zombie for halloween maybe.” percy was glad you were making jokes, seemingly back to normal.
the camp was everything you could have dreamed of. straight out of the pages of a book or out of a movie, amazing scenery, nice enough people, and insane skills amongst them. you had no clue how you’d fit in. you’d settled into hermes’ cabin, your bag and bed next to percy’s.
“so, how long have you been awake?” you were pushing down on your mattress with your hands, testing the springs. the bed wasn’t as soft as you’d have liked it to be but you couldn’t exactly buy a new one.
“let’s go outside and talk.” percy muttered, leading the way. you were sat down behind the cabin now, percy slowly sliding down the wall to be next to you.
“i only woke up a few minutes before you, i saw chiron he’s a—something. and i met the camp director mr d, dionysus by the way. they wouldn’t let me go back into the infirmary until we finished talking.”
“why’d you want to come back so quickly?”
“your bracelet was missing, i didn’t know where it was so i was freaking out. anyways i saw the camp a little, and i came back for it and you were awake. i got, i got scared before.” percy couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye, he felt nervous admitting it, his worry for you. your smile was wide as you recalled his own worry for the bracelet you’d made him.
“what? why?” he exhaled, his hands playing with his shirt, “i— i thought you wouldn’t wake up maybe.” you grabbed his hand, “i’m right here, there’s nothing to worry about perce. how are you feeling?” your voice was barely above a whisper, filled with sympathy and sorrow, you still hadn’t spoken about his mother.
“don’t.” he shook his head whilst averting his gaze, staring down at his hands. “don’t what? i’m not going to force you to talk about i promise, i just want to make sure you’re okay.” percy closed his eyes, “i can’t just,” percy breathed in, working up the courage to meet your eye, he hated the pity on your face, “just forget it, her.” you rested your hand on his neck, bringing him in, “no one’s asking you to percy, if there’s anything you need from me, or if you just want to sit and die of diabetes with every blue food in the world, i’ll be right there.”
“thank you.” his voice came out muffled against your shoulder. you tried your best to comfort him with a hand in his hair, you pulled him back to take a look at him. his eyes were glossy, a few tears had fallen free. using your sleeve you wiped them away, “now what demigod has the time for tears, percy jackson?”
you loved percy best like this, with a grin plastered on his face.
“yknow what we could use?” percy pulled you up from the ground, before you walked back to the cabin. “and what exactly is that m’lady?” you rolled your eyes, “first of all i despise your british accent and second, a nap!”
percy was sweating profusely, his nightmare having jolted him up from his bed. his jittery movements concerned you, book in your hands forgotten as you surged forwards, “perce? you okay?” his eyes were blown and chest heaving, but at the sight of you he relaxed, “yeah, yeah i’m fine.”
“you okay?” luke stood infront of the two of you, arms crossed, “super.” percy snipped back as you swatted his arm, “be nice.” your voice was firm, and you knew how percy was, you’d say sarcasm was probably his middle name if you hadn’t already known it.
“we all have them, you know.” luke clicked his tongue, taking a step closer. “intense, recurring nightmares. that’s normal here.” his words were surprising to you, knowing that yourself and percy rarely fit in.
“and the daydreams, and the ADHD, and dyslexia. demigods just process reality differently, than humans do. for the first time in your life, you’re just like everyone else.” you let out a sigh, whether of relief or sadness you didn’t know. did you want to fit in? be the same as everyone else? nothing special?
“so are you also… do you not know who your—“ lukes lips pressed into a thin line, knowing what percy insinuated, “am i… unclaimed?” the two of you nodded in unison, “no, hermes is my father. that doesn’t matter, we’re all on the same team here.”
percy’s agitation was obvious, as well as reasonable and it was exactly how you felt. “each kid is brought here and made to wait around until their parent decides to pick up the phone? pick up— whatever. how is that fair?“ percy nodded along, “she’s right, why is that okay? why do they get to bring us here to just ignore some of us?” you did feel bad for luke, you felt as if the two of you were bombarding him with questions and expecting him to hold all of life’s answers.
“spend too much time trying to figure out why the gods do whatever it is they do, you’ll drive yourself crazy. sooner you stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer.”
percy’s interest piqued, “and what’s that?”
“glory.”
you’d spent hours trying different things. percy almost hit a bunch of campers with an arrow, whilst you’d hit the bullseye, much to your elation. the both of you were absolutely horrendous at welding, which you figured. the only thing that had stuck with you through out the day was the idea of offerings. and you knew percy was thinking the same thing.
the smell of fire invaded your senses as percy threw in the thing that meant most, whilst you sat by him and wondered if it would actually work, would she be able to hear you? you’d zoned out for a bit, feeling as if you were intruding whilst he talked.
“i hope you’re sitting down, but… i think… i’ve made some friends here. like, real friends. y/n and i, we might actually fit in for once.” you beamed at the thought, yet not wanting to interrupt so you settled for nudging his shoulder to which he smiled at you, “i think they might really like me. imagine that. he isn’t here. my father, he just… didn’t show. i mean, ignoring me is one thing, but he doesn’t get to ignore you. i’m gonna make him come down here. i’m gonna make him see me, i’m gonna make him see us both.” and with that he blew out the fire, a small flicker of hope ignited inside.
“we’re going to get her back percy, i swear.”
and that was the end of your pleasant night, the reign of terror, clarisse and others were infront of your cabin. and that’s where your night went haywire.
you and percy were thrown to the floor roughly, landing on your bad thigh caused you to shout in pain. ��aw, does someone have a scratch? where’d you get it from? the minotaur?” the girl was blonde, and you had no clue who she was but her mocking tone made you want to punch her in the face.
“do you think you’re special? better than everyone else?”
“no.”
“tell me you made it all up about the minotaur, and I’ll let you go. maybe to impress your friend here? you practically have heart eyes when you look at her.” clarisse approached you, “don’t touch her!” percy shouted as clarisse chuckled, “why not? you gonna stop me?”
“he didn’t make anything up.” you responded to her question since percy hadn’t, with her harsh glare you prayed for the earth to swallow you whole. “she’s right, i didn’t make anything up.” clarisse was hoping for truthfulness from percy, she couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or happy, she could teach him a lesson.
“some kids gotta learn the hard way.” the two other girls charged towards percy before abruptly walking around him, dragging you up by the elbows. “hey! if you’re mad at me then hurt me! don’t touch her! let her go!” clarisse held percy back as the girls forced you to your knees, “guys i appreciate the sentiment but i’m not all that thirsty.” please tell me this wasn’t used recently.
percy thrashed around in her grip, desperate to save you, “you really like her don’t you? not a single ounce of fight in you when it’s your ass on the line but for her,” his chest heaved, and his hands clenched, he wasn’t commonly violent, but a beat down on clarisse seemed amazing right about now.
“get off her! y/n!” your eyes were clenched shut in an attempt to prepare yourself, holding your breath, yet nothing happened. when you peeled your eyes open you were met with an empty toilet bowl.
“please tell me you guys didn’t drink it yourselves.” if it wasn’t already an indication of her irritation based on the scowl on her face the second-grade ‘you stole my swing’ type of pull at your hair dragged you back to younger self. but what really awakened you were the three tentacle like forms of water, “what the hell?” the harsh collision of your back on the wall saved you from the attack. the girls all staggered around, careful of the water before scurrying out.
percy rushed over to you, hands cradling your face, “are you okay? did they hurt you? you didn’t touch the water did you?” you raised your hand to cut off percy’s rambling, “i’m fine, but what the hell was that?” he shook his head, “not a single idea in my head.” percy slumped opposite of you, “there’s not much in your head either way.” percy placed his hand on his heart, feigning shock and hurt, “how dare you!” your giggles rejuvenated percy, your smile was all he needed to be happy again.
the figure of someone at the door caused you to shoot up, careful of the water, you saw annabeth come into view. crap.
“we can explain.” you both held up your hands, caught at the scene of the crime and afraid of the consequences. “no, you can’t.” percy nodded in agreement, “okay,” the girls face resonated with percy, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he tried to recall how, “wait, I know you.”
annabeth shrugged her shoulders, “no, you don’t.” percy stepped forwards infront of you, directly inline with her, “yeah, but you were there. that night in the infirmary.” you couldn’t recall seeing her there when you woke up, “i don’t think she was, i don’t remember seeing you.” anabeth peered down at her shoes before returning to the conversation.
“yes. i’m annabeth.” she introduced herself, you’d heard of her a bit from other campers, daughter of athena.
“are you stalking us, annabeth?”
“yes.” her bluntness was something you didn’t expect. “okay. why?” you inquired further, “well, i’ve been waiting to see if something like this would happen. “so i’d know if you can help me.”
“you’ve been waiting for me to get my head in a toilet and for percy to be manhandled? well, girlhandled.” percy was confused, “help you do what?”
“win capture the flag.”
the helmets weren’t exactly the most comfortable but you figured keeping your brain in your skull was more crucial.
you walked next to luke with percy on the left of him, “you’re gonna love this. campwide mock warfare, all glory to the victors. annabeth’s the head counselor of the athena cabin. she’s led our team to three straight wins. been a long time since anyone’s won a fourth.”
“she was there in the bathroom, she said she’d been waiting for it to happen.”
“annabeth sees the world differently. always six steps ahead of everyone else. you should cut her a break.” you scoffed, “cut her a break for what? her life seems perfectly fine.” luke shook his head, “not everything’s as it seems y/n.”
“whose side are you on, anyway?”
luke stopped and turned towards percy, “oh, hers, always. she’s my little sister. maybe I should back up.” you nodded, “i think we should sit down if we’re going to be getting an origin story here.”
luke’s entire story of how he and annabeth got to camp made you regret your earlier comments of an easy life. she’d been fighting since she was a child, it’s all she’s known. “she’s been watching us since we got here. why?”
“annabeth is the strongest warrior in camp, the only way left to prove herself is to go on a quest.”
“and what does this have to do with us?”
“chiron’s been promising her for years. one day, a demigod would arrive who was fated to go on a quest that even chiron couldn’t prevent. and when that happened, she could join it. every new arrival, or, arrivals in your case, annabeth watches, looking for a sign they’re the one. usually, she gives up after a day or two, but she’s still watching you two.”
“can you ask her to knock it off?” as much as you hated to admit it, she did kind of freak you out, “i agree, we’re not going on some magical quest any time soon.”
“yeah, sure. but you never know, what if she’s right?” the conch shell blowing in the distance alerted you all.
it was battle time.
as you walked behind luke you couldn’t help your nervousness, which percy always noticed. “hey,” his voice was soft and reassuring, a hand on your shoulder, “we’re gonna be fine, it’s just a friendly game. we’ve won three times and we’re going to get a fourth since they have us brilliant additions of course.” percy literally bowed in front of you as if being applauded for a performance as you chuckled, “oh please, you cant win with idiocy percy.”
“that is extremely offensive! how many times have i beaten you in monopoly?”
“ohh, you want to talk about monopoly mr bank robber? do you honestly think no one noticed when you randomly turn in broken change and grab even more bigger notes? or the fact that three houses does not make a hotel!” clarisse watched the two of you fool around from afar, she was going to make you pay.
the pebble you’d thrown clattered against percy’s armour, “hey! what was that for?” you groaned out loud, your head lolling back, meeting the log. “if you keep flossing i’m going to push you myself perce. you need to take this more serious—” the girls surrounded you from every angle, swords in hand as you rose from the floor, your own sword clutched tightly.
“flags that way, it’s not here.” clarisse smirked, “we know. yeah, glory’s fine. revenge is more fun.” her spear crackled as they all surged forwards, time to fight, it’s now or never.
clarisse’s scream was deafening. “so much for friendly huh?” percy shook his head, “not now! you can tell me how wrong i was when we’re out of here.” for some reason once they’d begun their attack, you’d never felt more alive. as if you were born for this, to fight. every sword and hit that came your way was met with double the force, hurling people backwards as you tried to make your way to percy’s side. one of the girls was sly, managing to corner you on the boardwalk near by.
her knee, she’s weak in the knees.
the voice echoed through your head, as if compelled you followed up on it as the girl went down almost immediately. thank you very much random voice! the sound of cheers floated through the air as you saw luke plant the flag in the ground.
4 — 0.
perhaps you’d been distracted by the people, or maybe it was percy being held by his armour courtesy of clarisse. either way you didn’t notice the girl lunging your way, not until the cold water engulfed your body.
you’d never learnt to properly swim.
percy’s footsteps drummed through the air, each step heavy and weighed down with purpose. he had to get to you, now. the second you’d hit the water he was on the ground running. it had only been about five seconds at most yet percy was already at your previous spot, diving in head first.
act now, think later.
your eyesight was blurry as the two of you resurfaced, the first thing you spotted the crowd on the shoreline, they waited with bated breath, your team cheering once the two of you were back up. “i’m so sorry, i said i would protect you but clarisse— i was so scared when i saw you get pushed, i think i froze up. i should’ve listened to you, i should’ve taken it more seriously. this is all my fault.” he was holding onto your face for dear life, afraid to let go.
percy had dived head first into the water for you, no hesitation. he put himself at risk for you. he always knew what to say and what to do. percy was your person. you’d been an idiot, why’d it take so long for you to realise what you knew deep down?
you love percy jackson. and not in a friend way, in a love way. in the best way.
your lips were pressed on his in seconds, you weren’t in a hurry, not desperate, not messy. just passionate and deep, as if you were trying to convey your feelings through it. you were simultaneously trying your hardest to remember this moment. percy’s cold hands on your cheeks, both of you sopping wet, nothing else mattered to you, until he kissed back. percy on the other hand was desperate, he’d been waiting for so long, settling for the title of best friend. he had you in his arms, he’d already lost his own mother, he wasn’t going to lose his other half.
his hair tousled, curls sticking to his face, yours dripping wet, hands on your neck as you clutched his. “what are we percy?” he grinned, “whatever we want to be.” the pair of you may have forgotten the fact that you were currently surrounded by campers, but the deafening cheers and shouts of support warmed your heart. surely a kiss didn’t elicit such a reaction? yes it did, but also the fact that a trident loomed over percy’s head.
percy jackson, son of poseidon.
the two of you walked with a literal army of people, friends, even. for once you both felt as if you belonged.
luke was unbearable, taking any chance he could to tease the two of you, “my little campers, all grown up.” he fake-cried, wiping false tears from his eyes as you poked him, “now if we can find someone then where’s your partner pal?” percy laughed, “please never say pal again.” you turned his way, scrunching your nose, “doesn’t work does it?” he shook his head as the three of you chuckled.
“but seriously, you two are made for each other, i’m happy for you.” as you reached the cabin you couldn’t help yourself as you hugged luke by surprise, “thank you. we’ll be in soon, we just have a bit to talk about.” luke made his way inside as the two of you turned to walk away but not before hearing him call out, “keep your hands to yourself percy!” percy rolled his eyes as you smiled.
the two of you sat at the boardwalk again, feet dangling off. you’d been discussing the quest, as well as the fact that it was only undertaken by three.
“so, you, me, anabeth and grover. percy i know school sucks but if you could count those names on your fingers for me please.” percy groaned as you laughed at your own joke, “i know, i know. but i figure four heads are better than three.” your legs swung back and forth as you shrugged your shoulders, “we could fold grover into a box and take him with us secretly.” percy suggested.
“yeah, maybe.” your voice was quieter than before, eliciting concern from percy, “hey? you okay?” you were fidgeting again, this time with the black bracelet you’d made for him. he met your eyes with a smile as he lifted your head by the chin.
“i promise, i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” and for once you could feel how serious he was, “thank you perce, you— have been apart of my life since i was little. i don’t think there’s a single person i trust more on this planet than you. i’m sorry, for everything you’ve gone through. i swear, we’re going to make it out of this. we’re going to find your mother, we’re going to find the lighting bolt, and everything can return to normal. well, besides the fact that we’re all demigods and all.” the laughter was bittersweet, a moment of peace before you embarked on the quest.
“you’re beautiful you know that?” he whispered to you, as if he was afraid for others to hear. you grinned at his words, leaning in towards him as he followed, “i know, you make it a point to tell me at least once a day. but you, percy, are as gorgeous as the calm seas.”
you wiggled your finger in his face as he swatted it away, “if i had known my girlfriend was a poet i would’ve had every word of yours written down.” you felt fuzzy, warm. with percy you felt a million ways, all of them good.
as cheesy as he was you loved him.
“look at us, exploring a whole new world.”
“did you just aladdin me?”
“yup, do you think they have a flying carpet here?”
“why so zeus can strike it down when he’s angry? i feel like the gods are all little kids throwing temper tantrums.” percy shushed you, “they might be listening.” he joked as you punched him.
“i hope they are. so they know, we’re coming for them.”
“holy shit that was a badass line.”
“perce?”
“yeah?”
“you’re ruining it.”
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onlyswan · 11 months
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summary: in which moving in together is a herculean task and jungkook teaches you how to fold his underwear.
> est. relationship, fluff, angst lowkey / wc: 3.2k
> warnings: mention of h!ckeys and or/l s/x (f. receiving), allusion to c*ckwarming and s/x
> in which masterlist!
note: who else will drunkenly research about men’s underwear and scroll through calvin klein’s website at 2am to write this for shit and giggles and self-indulgence if not art <3 as always i love hearing your thoughts thru reblogs/comments/asks !! 🥺
“pssst.”
“oh shit-”
jungkook looks up to find you standing by the doorframe of the walk-in closet, and the view instantly weaves a stupidly whipped grin on his handsome face. your hair is messy from sleep; your eyes are still half-lidded; and your lips are wrapped around the straw of the red water tumbler you’re clutching in your hands.
“baby! you scared me! what are you doing out of bed?”
“my bed escaped from me.” you mumble, padding across the wooden floor until you reach him. he watches in bewilderment as you fall to your knees and pull his arms out of your way. muscular body pliant underneath your dainty touches, he allows you to move him as you like.
“ahhh-” he produces a noise of enlightenment as you find a comfortable position between his legs, lying down across his lap. he’s forced to support the weight of your torso with his arm beneath your upper back, hand curled around your shoulder. “am i the bed?”
“mhmm, boo! i caught you. you’re stuck with me forever.” you go limp in his arms and dramatically press the back of your hand on your forehead like a damsel in distress, which elicits a chuckle from your boyfriend.
he bends down to pepper kisses along your jaw and exposed neck, plush lips brushing against the traces of love bites that blossomed on your skin this afternoon, courtesy of his friskiness. having always been extra sensitive there, the ticklish sensation makes you squirm. “that’s exactly what i signed up for.”
“oh?” you raise an eyebrow challengingly. “sure. let’s see if you can still say the same thing… three months from now.”
your fingers comb through his silky locks, taking a fistful and lightly yanking to pull him off you.
“as you were.”
a grunt tumbles out of his mouth when you change positions carelessly. in the end, you settle with straddling him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, where you nuzzle your face and almost purr like a kitten due to the warmth that you’ve missed in his absence.
the process of transforming an apartment to a home together has been… exhausting, to say the least. you’ve had most of the furniture installed before you started bringing in your personal belongings, but how can a space feel so empty and so crowded at the same time? too many boxes, too many bags, too many things left to buy. the line between what’s yours and what’s his is blurring in your eyes, and this is only the beginning.
you thought dealing with jungkook’s self-admitted laziness would frustrate you at some point, well… which it did. however, it turns out that it is precisely what you need in this type of situation. yesterday morning, he successfully seduced you into letting him eat you out on the kitchen island. you reached the height of your pleasure twice in a row, nearly delirious as he was lost in untamed lust and moaned about how you taste, distracting you from planning out what goes in which kitchen cabinet based on dimensions and convenience. last night, he had to drag you back to bed at 5am because you ended up organizing your bookshelf for two hours instead of only getting a refill of water like you claimed.
“what are you even looking for?!” jungkook exclaims with a hand over his naked waist, clad only in his boxers, as he watches you rummage through four boxes in search for something.
“the easel!” you whimper, your calves breaking your fall as you slump back on the floor in despair.
“easel?” he squats down infront of a box beside you, scratching his cheek as his puffy and sleepy eyes scan the other boxes. “i don’t think an easel would’ve fit in here, baby.”
“it’s a mini one. the one i use to display my favorite book.” you pout to point at it standing in the second level of the shelf. he recognizes it as the limited edition book he bought you last year, and the flashbacks of him standing in line for hours to get it signed by the author are inescapable.
if hearing you say that it’s your favorite makes jungkook so ecstatic that he wants to break down into tears, he doesn’t show it. instead, he nonchalantly throws you over his shoulder, making a beeline to the bedroom. he yelps when you angrily pound at his back with balled fists.
“ugh, i hate you! put me down!”
he clicks his tongue. “bad!” he lightheartedly chides you, smacking your ass. “i’m cuffing you to myself! do you have any idea what time it is? you have class in three hours!”
“but, babe, i don’t want to attend!” you cry out, slumping as you grudgingly yield. “why do you have to be so strong?! stop lifting weights for fuck’s sake!”
at the time, you meant it when you said that you want to take the moving duties slowly since you have all the time in the world but… you can’t stand the clutter and disorganization for the life of you. at the same time, it pumps your veins with thrill, having an empty space and being responsible to breathe life into it with jungkook. out of all the life-altering decisions you had to make with your still developing brain, this is the biggest gamble yet.
you don’t know if you’re blinded by love, putting your trust in jungkook when he said that he wanted to build a life with you; or if it’s arrogance, having the trust in your ability to stand on your own feet again incase a match is thrown in a puddle of fuel on the floor. the latter is more painful to think about, quite frankly. just because you can, doesn’t mean that you want to. you have to. you have to. with bruised knees from praying for a little more time, you have to. the earth doesn’t stop orbiting the sun when your house burns down.
either way, it’s too late to succumb to your inner monologue. the stuffed toys you own, including ones you’ve dearly loved since childhood, are scattered across the living room. the journal you’ve been sadly neglecting for the past two weeks is just freely lying on your personal study space. you’re here, safe in his arms, and if there’s one thing you’ll always believe in, it’s this. and you intend to make the most out of each day the universe allows you the right to be here.
“you can fall asleep like this? while i keep moving?” he whispers, wide palm soothingly running up and down the expanse of your back.
only if it’s you, you say in the back of your mind. “you can see for yourself.”
“psh. always gotta keep me on my toes, don’t you?” he smooches your cheek, and then once more, lingering and refusing to part away. you feel his lips curling up against your skin.
jungkook reaches for the tumbler you left behind on the floor, capturing the straw between his lips and plentily sipping until he deems his thirst quenched. he sets it aside afterwards, returning his attention to the laundry basket he purposely laid on the floor so he can easily reach inside. he’s been happily working hard on the laundry after you both agreed to wash the clothes you haven’t worn in quite some time to keep your closet clean and fresh.
a little hiccup though.
quickly and unsurprisingly, you ran out of hangers between his long-sleeves and yours alone. therefore, he’s solely focusing on the to-be-folded for tonight, which mostly consists of shorts, casual pants, underwear, and socks.
he inserts his arm in the laundry basket to push out the articles of clothing closer to the edge, grabbing the nearest thing and proceeding to neatly fold it over his outstretched legs. his white sweatpants lands on top of its designated pile, and then the same goes for your tennis skirt, as well as his ripped jeans, and everything else after that.
jungkook being jungkook, singing comes naturally to him after breathing and more than blinking. he hums, chest vibrating against yours as he does so, occasionally singing the lyrics in between because he means them. a tattooed arm protectively wraps around you to keep you glued to his body each time he leans forward. his careful movements, along with his mellifluous voice, fool your senses into believing that you’re being carried out by the ocean waves to the shore of dreamland.
your boyfriend freezes when one of your arm slides down his shoulder, an irrefutable evidence that you’ve fallen asleep again. you finally tired yourself out, he breathes out a sigh of relief. he cups the back of your head as support, eyes shaping into crescent moons as he giggles as quietly as he can after seeing your face.
“so fucking cute.” he muses, rewarding your cheek with another kiss before securely tucking you back into his embrace.
he carries on with his task to allow you to dive further into unconsciousness. he spends the next fifteen minutes folding the boxers that were still stuck inside one of his suitcases, patiently operating with only an arm. his tattooed one is still preoccupied with maintaining a protective embrace around you. shortly after, he decides that it’s time for you to go back to bed.
“there we go.” he says quietly to himself as he succeeds to stand on his feet, carrying you with his hands hooked around your bare thighs. you unconsciously tighten your hold around his neck and release a deep sigh of contentment in your sleep.
he kicks the door open, walking with light, deliberate steps across the wooden floor. he climbs on the bed, knees sinking in the mattress as he gently lays you down. and there’s an inexplicable emotion stirring in his chest as he covers you with the blanket, accompanied by the epiphany that he is doing this at 2am not because time has arrived to daunt him and he needs to leave your bed to go home. not anymore. whatever this is, it feels so fucking good. oh my god, he looks forward to spending the rest of his life feeling you breathe next to him, getting lost in how peaceful you look asleep when he randomly wakes up in the middle of the night.
he tenderly squeezes your arms as he leans down to plant a goodnight kiss on your velvet lips, sweet and loving. slowly, and with the smallest movements possible, he gets out of the bed to return to the closet.
“love, you’re not sleeping yet?” your tiny voice barely reaches his ears but it pinches his heart, even more painfully when he sees that your hand only managed to seize three of his longest fingers to stop him from walking away.
he sits down beside you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “i will in a bit, baby. i only have the rest of my underwear left to put away.”
you blink at him hazily, silent as you digest his words in your clouded mind. “you’re folding them, too?”
“of course.”
and with that confirmation, you eagerly inch closer to him. “teach me.”
“huh?” his forehead creases, eyebrows knitting in a state of confusion.
“teach me.” you repeat yourself, bordering on a whine.
“how to fold my underwear?”
you innocently nod your head as a reply.
“why?” he asks, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth because of your unusual request. but then again, he can’t say he’s much that surprised. it’s such a you thing to do.
“i can’t?” your lips form an adorably small pout, and you sniffle as your eyes water with unshed tears of drowsiness. “but you’re my boyfriend.”
fuck fuck fuck, he curses inside his head. his heart flips and drops to his stomach. holy shit, yes he is. it’s infuriating, how it requires you little to no effort to have him wrapped around your finger. the endearing sight automatically tugs at his heartstrings, urging him to cradle your soft cheeks in between his large palms.
“i’m just curious.” he reassures you with a chuckle, leaning down to press one more sweet kiss to your lips.
“we do chores together…” you trail off, nose scrunching when his brushes yours. you smile sheepishly. you’re relishing in the mere inches between you — how you can see that his pupils are evidently dilated, his brown doe eyes appearing rounder and bigger than they already are. “so i just want to learn how to do it right.”
you swiftly throw aside the blanket enveloping you when he voices out his permission with an “it’s so easy!”, cheerfully jumping off the bed. captivated by your unique charm, jungkook allows himself to be dragged away as a breathing, walking picture of pure adoration.
he finds himself sitting on the same spot on the floor, back comfortably resting on the cabinets now that you’re beside him instead of on him. your drooping eyes follow the every movement of his dexterous hands as he folds a calvin klein trunk on his lap, black with a white waistband. wearing an orange beanie of his you found stuck underneath the laundry basket, you obediently bounce your head as he earnestly demonstrates it with instructions.
“so you take this side and fold it over to the middle, and then! you do the same with the other one, so they’re folded equally like this.”
he briefly picks it up to show it to you from rim of the waistband, the two parts stacked and perfectly aligned.
“after that, you take the bottom and roll it over like… halfway? whatever, i just kind of do it by feel- and the final step… so you also fold the waistband here so you can tuck the rolled up part inside. it ends up looking this neat and compact, see?”
your gaze only flickers at the finished product, having seen what it looks like about a thousand times in his backpacks and luggages. “so these are called trunks… and those are called boxers?”
your boyfriend follows the direction your index finger is pointing at, revealing a pile of folded boxers sitting inside of his opened suitcase. he winces with his full set of teeth before he cracks up in laughter, the genuine curiosity you radiate is making his brain overflow with love and happy chemicals.
“right! those are more comfortable and breathable so i wear them at home, while trunks provide more support for when i need it, you know?”
“snug fit or loose fit this, boxers or boxer briefs that. you strip them off all the time to put your dick in me anyway.” you scoff, picking up another calvin klein creation from the laundry basket immediately afterwards.
a string of ditzy giggles slip past your lips. the light blue trunk was standing out among the neutral colors like a firefly in the forest, practically begging to be chosen as your first piece of work.
“i’ll do this one! you wore it yesterday. i love the color.”
his lips part open in surprise at your lewd and unfiltered response, a hand flying to his face to conceal the rosy shade that has begun to tint his flushed honey skin, many earrings collectively swinging and belly aching as he chortles. it’s embarrassing, really, how he still blushes despite having done countless sinful things with you. can you really blame him for being incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s so helplessly and hopelessly attracted to you?
he clears his throat, crossing his legs and moving to his side so he’s facing you. “go on then.”
you flap it against the air to straighten out the fabric, placing it over your thighs and meticulously following your boyfriend’s instructions step-by-step. you’re quiet as you commit yourself to the chore, floating in your little bubble of tranquility and concentration.
and jungkook is intently watching you with as much self-control he can muster. the urge to grab your face and kiss you senselessly is palpable, wrapping itself around his limbs like vines that have a life of their own, desperate to dip into the sun for a taste. they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and he can attest to that to a certain degree… but dear god, its lack thereof?
there’s no sensible reason why the both of you should be spending your late nights in your new apartment doing stuff like this when you have an entire 55-inch television set up on the floor because you haven’t found the time and energy to attach it to the bedroom wall yet… and not to mention that jungkook had to write more batteries all types of batteries, tongs, and curtains as CURTAINS!!! in your little notebook of to-buy checklists because somehow, they never crossed either of your minds the last two times you went shopping for your remaining home essentials. his new gaming chair arrived this afternoon and he has zero clue where he will insert assembly time into his busy schedule. one of these days, you’re also bound to discover the plant namjoon left as a gift three days ago. he placed it at the balcony, and it’s only surviving due to the fact that it’s been a relatively rainy month.
although, that’s precisely what makes this moment so priceless and so grounding. you smoothly finish the challenge and sing “ta-da!” with a beam that causes your eyes to twinkle with a tiny sense of achievement despite your apparent exhaustion.
“oh?! looks perfect. good job, baby. goob job.” he praises you with a grin, affectionately stroking your hair. “let’s work together so we can go to sleep.”
his thoughtful words and action make you keen, coaxing the giddiness in you to bubble over. you playfully nudge his side as you haul the laundry basket closer. “i want to play. let’s see who can fold the most in a minute!”
“play?” his shoulders deflate as he sighs, battery running low.
“no?” your lips pucker up in dismay. “too tired, love?”
his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he gives it some consideration. he shrugs. “what’s in it for me?”
oh, damn it.
“the winner also automatically wins the light fixture debate?”
in which you’re referring to your month-long dispute over which color of the cloud light you should purchase for your shared bedroom. he insists on the white cloud that has the white light because it looks like a thundercloud, and on the other hand, you’re fighting for the pink cloud with the yellow light because it looks like the sunrise or the sunset depending on its saturation and brightness.
“alright!” he blurts out, a surge of energy kickstarting his system. he snatches his phone, which he left in one of the empty shelves near him. “baby wants to play a dangerous game, huh? the stakes are incredibly high! too high! are you ready? to lose?”
your mood sours when he begins using his variety show hosting voice, confidence dwindling but determination fueled and burning brighter now that he’s in higher spirits.
you roll your eyes. “yeah, sure. ready to lose the white variation in my cart, bro.”
he smirks mischievously, his childish and devilish laughter echoing in the closet. “we’ll start the timer! in three…! one- go!”
“freeze, you cheater! i wasn’t ready! put that shit down!”
note: soooo, are you team oc or team jungkook? i will be keeping score 👩‍💻
taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm to be added or removed :D
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highvern · 3 months
Text
Home for the Holidays
Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader
Genre: romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating
Warnings: she/her pronouns, Drug use, alcohol, mentions of aging family members, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of illness (reader is a doctor), cursing, dry-humping/grinding, kissing, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected sex, angst, poor self-esteem/self-doubt, pining, some threats of bodily harm
Length: ~24k
Note: God this was such a doozy. I started it on December 1st and barely finished it this morning. Based on Happy Place by Emily Henry (if you like romcoms I highly recommend all her books) and most cheesy Christmas movies (Exmas). Did I project my middle child syndrome onto fellow middle child Wooyoung? Maybe! BUT why write if not to explore your own trauma lmao
Like, comment, reblog, enjoy or don’t! Merry Christmas! MWAH!
This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!
June 27th
“So I have some news. I know it hasn’t been easy for us going back—”
“I think we should break up.”
“and forth so much but—What?” 
“I don’t think it's working out between us.”
“Oh,” is all you manage to say before your vocal cords seize.
Your mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words that don’t manage to make a sound. Eyes shifting around the room, the sheen of tears thickening as a few beads trail down your cheeks as you stand shakily; managing only a few steps away from the table before a choked sob wiggles free from an iron grip. People are staring as you nearly run out to the door, unaware that several whip around to look at the man left sitting behind you.
Wooyoung doesn’t chase you down. Doesn’t call or text as you walk the twenty blocks to Lisa’s apartment in the thick humidity of the city night; snot and tears trailing down your face.
Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at all as eight years shatter to pieces in a matter of seconds.
December 7th
Wooyoung
…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.
Wooyoung staples the finished packets together, ears tickled by jazzy Christmas music leaking from his computer speakers in the corner of his L-shaped desk. Surrounded by colorful brick walls of a midtown elementary school isn’t where most people his age would find themselves on a Friday evening but where else would he go?
His roommates have their partners over, he’d rather avoid the frigid dampness of the park he usually smokes at, and Wooyoung isn’t interested in the crowds clogging anywhere else he’d think to visit. The usual comforting bustle of the city only serves to set him on edge, making him desperate for a true solitude he really craves. Getting ahead on his classroom prep for the remainder of the semester seemed like the perfect, albeit a depressing way, to spend the evening.
The dulcet tones of Dean Martin are joined by an incoming call buzzing his phone across the wooden top of the desk. A familiar picture of his mom and him as a baby flashing across the screen before he answers.
“Hi sweetie,” his mom yells on the other line. Wooyoung can tell she’s driving home from work based on the poor audio quality.
“Hey mom,” he wedges the device between his shoulder and cheek, using his hands to continue organizing the worksheets for Monday; paper warm in his palms from the printer.
“I’m just calling to make sure you and Y/N are still coming for Christmas. I know the hospital is usually crazy this time of year so I thought I’d double check.”
“Actually mom—”
“Bibi keeps talking about wanting everyone home for Christmas but if Y/N can’t make it she’ll understand. She’s always been her favorite.” His mom laughs.
Wooyoung’s grandmother is impolitely frank about her age and never hesitates to use it to her own advantage. How does he tell her that his girlfriend, who she liked more than her own grandsons some days, is no longer his girlfriend? And how he is the only one to be blamed for that.
He might as well start digging his own grave.
“We’ll be there.” Wooyoung blabs before he can stop himself.
“Wonderful! I’m pulling into the driveway so I’ll talk to you later. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
Fortunately, on a cold winter night like tonight, the only other soul in the building is Mr. Rollins, a janitor with headphones permanently attached to his ears. The colorful combination of expletives pouring from Wooyoung’s mouth would make a sailor blush.
Typing in a familiar name to his message bar, Wooyoung realizes he hasn’t changed it in all this time; the string of emojis from the first night he got her number glaring back at him in mockery. A sting of bile blisters the back of Wooyoung’s throat as he steads himself for what he’s about to do. Who he is about to ask for the biggest mercy; one he didn’t deserve in the slightest.
Wooyoung: Can I call you?
Wooyoung inhales before hitting “send,” locking his phone and tossing it down like it’s possessed.
Barely a full minute passes before it vibrates with her response.
Y/N🥰🍯💖: are you okay?
He can’t even type a reply before the buzz buzz buzz on an incoming call tickles against his palm. 
Tapping into the false chipper personality he reserves for strangers and his class, Wooyoung answers with a simple. “Hey!” 
“Hi.” She deadpans.
“Is it a bad time?”
“What do you want, Woo?”
“How have you been?”
“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”
Wooyoung wants to object but she’s right. “I’m not but I still care.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”
“Why?” Y/N asks after a pregnant pause.
“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”
A rush of clattering sounds from her end along with a few curse words sounding far away before she continues. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s been six months!”
“I know! But I’ve been busy and there was never a good time and it’s just kinda snowballed.”
“Well, tell her now.”
“I can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”
“Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”
“You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”
“I thought us breaking up meant I didn’t have to deal with your shit anymore.”
“I can tell them your busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”
“No,” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down her face, fingers massaging her temples the same way she always did when his shenanigans got them in trouble. “I’ll do it.”
Now he’s the one to pause, “Really?”
“Yeah, it’d be nice to see them all one last time.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I actually need to get back to doing that so–”
“Yeah, I’ll, ugh, talk to you later. Bye.”
“Bye.”
As the line clicks and Wooyoung is left alone in his classroom, the space abruptly feels too big. With each minute ticking by, he convinces himself he hallucinated the entire exchange because there is no possible way his ex-girlfriend agreed to this ill-thought plan. Everything feels too normal for her to extend such undue kindness his way, especially after how he ruined their relationship in a moment of insecurity.
Wooyoung: My flight out is 12/21
Wooyoung: You don’t have to come that early 
Y/N🥰🍯💖: im off starting the 19th
Wooyoung: I’ll pay for your flight
Y/N🥰🍯💖: great
Y/N🥰🍯💖: ill venmo you
Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details
There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between them. Eight years of dating but now she’s a stranger. The last text messages arranging for their mutual friend Lisa to pick up a box of her stuff from his apartment. 
Six months and he didn’t know if she kept her hair the same way or what new book she was obsessing over in her sparse free time; if her neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.
Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.
December 10th
Wooyoung
Wooyoung wakes up to the early morning bustle of the busy streets just outside his window. His phone clock reads thirty minutes past his normal alarm which means he’s late. And that means his boss is going to tear his ass a new one. 
In a whirl, Wooyoung rushes to the bathroom. He wets his hands with the freezing tap water, patting his face and attempting to style his bed ridden hair. The door shifts to catch his foot as he exits, stubbing his toe and forcing him to hop down the hallway to his room. Wrinkled khakis and a sweater are all Wooyoung manages before he throws on his parka and is out the door. 
He sprints to the subway, just in time to see the doors closing on his train.
“Fuck me!”
“Too young for me buddy,” croaks the homeless man splayed on the bench in the middle of the platform.
Ignoring him, Wooyoug paces further down the station, anger filling him with restless energy. Glancing at his phone, he shoots an email to his principal that he’ll be late due to “train delays.” Thank god for the MTA being a regular piece of shit. 
Finally checking the stream of missed notifications during the night, he uses the lull to answer them.
Mom: Does y/n still like those chips we bought last time? I’m at the store getting a few things
Wooyoung: She said she’s happy with whatever you get!
Not a lie since Y/N would be happy to have snacks of any kind.
SANNIE⛰️: YOU DIDN’T TELL YOUR PARENTS? 
SANNIE⛰️: U R SO FUCKED
At least he can always count on San to state the obvious.
Y/N🥰🍯💖: here’s my ticket 
Wooyoung does a double take when he sees she’s flying out of New York, not Boston. Why isn’t she flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and she wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless she had a good reason.
Wooyoung: Why are you flying out of LGA?
Y/N🥰🍯💖: Because I live here?
A lump of lead hardens in his stomach. She lives here, in New York. She’s been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long has she been here? Where is she working? What neighborhood is she in? Why didn’t he know she moved back?
The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.
His train arrives without preamble, brakes screeching as it slows to a stop. Wooyoung crowds into the compartment, happy for it to be relatively empty. Finding a spot on the wall, he zones out of the chaos for the next twenty minutes. A group of highschoolers laugh obnoxiously in the corner, snatching one another’s phones as they share god knows what between them. A young mom tries to placate her crying baby, the older man next to her rolling his eyes as he devours his morning paper. When the doors open at his stop, Wooyoung pauses for a second as an elderly woman enters the train. Catching her eye, he offers her his seat; only standing when she’s close enough so no one else tries to take it from her. 
Wooyoung slithers out of the closing doors and bolts out of the station as fast as he can.
Panting and sweating under his black parka, Wooyoung arrives outside the red doors of the elementary school he teaches at. Principal Martinez is tapping his foot at the top of the steps, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowl etched deep on his face.
“This is the third time this month.”
“I know, I’m sorry! But the train got delayed with repairs or something and—”
“Save it. You have a class to get to.”
Breezing past, Wooyoung’s boots clack against the linoleum tile as he careens towards his classroom. The rowdy cacophony of third grade voices echo beyond the doorway, only increasing in volume as he peeks his head in.
A dozen shrill voices scream something along the lines of, “Mr. Jung you’re late!”
“You’re all just early!” Wooyoung goads back, sending a thankful look at the teacher who stepped in to watch them till he arrived.
The room descends into giggles, students finding their places as he settles at his own desk.
“So today, we’re starting with circle time!”
Y/N
“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family?”
Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, you see Hongjoong watching you skeptically. The ridiculousness of the situation isn’t lost on you. You’d nearly convinced yourself the entire exchange Friday night was some cruel dream if not for the string of text messages proving it’d been real. Wooyoung’s first real attempt to speak with you post-breakup, and he asks you to pretend he didn’t break your heart six months ago.
“That’s about as straight as it gets.”
Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, “And you said yes, why?”
“Because…” 
You missed him? Because you still loved him? Because when you saw his message you thought he was finally ready to admit it'd all been a mistake? 
Because Wooyoung always convinced you to go along with whatever he asked?
“I really like his family.”
“Oh, sweet child.” He clicks, leafing through his own case file.
“Look, it’ll be nice to see them one last time and I’d rather spend the holidays with them than cramped in my apartment to avoid the tourists.”
“Are you sure that’s the only reason why?”
“Yep.”
“This can’t go wrong at all!”
“Shut up,” you say before dipping into the exam room, shifting your face into an enthusiastic smile. “How are we today, Mrs. Haspin?”
“We’re doing okay. Harper hasn’t been liking the new medicine you prescribed.”
“She hasn’t?” You gasp sarcastically, staring wide eyed at the tiny brunette with braided pigtails sitting on the exam room bed.
“They’re gross!” Harper cries with all the sincerity a four year old can muster, her tiny hands wrinkling the paper as she slaps the bed indignantly.
“Well that’s no good. I’ll make sure to check if they have other flavors.” You type a few notes in her electronic chart as you turn over your shoulder. “Mom, have you noticed a difference?”
“She’s not having as many coughing fits.”
“That is very good.” You curl your stethoscope in your palm, attempting to warm the cool metal. “Can I listen to your lungs, Harper?”
She shakes her head up and down vigorously, the pink and gold beads at the end of her pigtails clacking together.
“Alright, take a deep breath in.” The woosh of air entering her lungs fills the room. “And out. In. And out.”
You prompt her to continue several times, gliding the chestpiece along various parts of her back as you listen intently. A few crackles pop in your ears, mucus coating her airways; only made worse by the dry winter of the city.
“Very good, Harper.” you praise before turning to her mom waiting anxiously in the corner. “With the winter make sure you’re using the humidifier as much as possible but her lungs sound better than last time so I’d like to stay on the meds.” You swivel back to your patient. “I’ll check with the pharmacy if they can do something about the flavor. Okay?”
Harper beams, glad to be heard. Her mother beams for an entirely different reason. Her daughter struggled with respiratory issues since she’d been born and as she aged they’d only gotten worse. Harper was the first patient you took when you started two months ago and in that time you’ve grown fond of her.
“All right, I’ll walk you all to the front. I think we can push out our next visit until six weeks since she’s been doing so well. If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call us.”
Handing them off to the receptionist to schedule their next appointment, you return to your office for a quick lunch.
Y/N: Because I live here
Youngie 🖤: since when?
How do you tell him that you’ve lived here since the day he broke up with you? How that night at dinner you were planning to surprise him by moving back to New York and removing the distance that plagued your relationship for three years?
The benefit of no longer being in a relationship means you don’t have to explain anything.
Locking your phone, you scarf down the squashed sandwich you brought from home before rushing to your next patient. 
Wooyoung
Wooyoung: since when?
Wooyoung checked his phone after finishing pick up duty, one of several over the next month as a bargain to keep his job.
She’d ignored him. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. She was a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when they’d met at some dive and realized they shared a behavioral psych class. Y/N always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day.
Wooyoung: Did you know Y/N moved here?
Yeosang: Yes.
Well fuck.
Wooyoung: You didn’t think to tell me?
Yeosang: You broke up.
Yeosang: ?
Even his roommate knew she’d been in the city.
Double fuck.
December 14th
Y/N
Another week passes before Wooyoung reaches out to you again. You’re set to leave in a few days but work requires all the energy you can manage thanks to a volatile respiratory season. 
Youngie 🖤: Our flights are around the same time. Do you wanna carpool?
You spoke with Yeosang frequently enough (once in a blue moon) to know they still lived in the dingy old walk up they could hardly afford. The high rise you rented further up Manhattan would be on his way to the airport but did you want to see Wooyoung sooner than needed?
Misery still festered in your veins since the break up. Eight years you’d dated; through senior year of undergrad, four years of medical school, and just shy of three years of residency. And the asshole couldn’t give you a single reason for your break up. No warning. No fighting. The same bouquet of delicate pink tulips waiting in hand for you as you arrived at the train station for your last visit to the city before relocating permanently. Yeosang texted you that very afternoon about his excitement to have you back as if nothing was wrong.
A beautiful afternoon holed up in his room for a late nap before dinner, apartment silent in the absence of his three roommates who’d usually greet you enthusiastically as you returned to the city for a visit. Wooyoung hadn’t acted any differently than the other times you visited, seemingly unaware of the surprise you planned to unveil at the fancy dinner he planned to congratulate you on finishing your long years of training.
But then he sat down and said the six words that replayed in your mind like a curse.
And that was the last time you heard his voice until Friday night; as if Wooyoung dove off the face of the earth. The only proof of living were the traces of him in his friends’ Instagram stories or faceless photos of him in their posts.
You’d never been one to post much on social media anyway but his shock at your move back to the city fanned a sick sense of satisfaction. As if to say “two can play at that game.” Wooyoung cut you out and you’d done the same. Keeping your move under lock and key despite sharing the same friend group.
Y/N: no thanks
You’re toeing the line of rudeness but what’s Wooyoung going to do? Break up with you again?
December 21st
Wooyoung
Terminal C of LaGuardia Airport four days before Christmas ranks among the top destinations no one in their right mind would want to be. Parents attempting to keep track of hyper children, businessmen scowling down their nose as they scream into their cellphones, adults slamming down overpriced drinks in preparation for the endless questions holidays bring.
“Bringing home anyone special?”
“When are you going to get married?”
“Grandchildren?”
The last is Wooyoung’s grandmother’s new favorite. Myungho faces the brunt of it; married three years and in no rush to add another mouth to feed just yet. When Wooyoung flew home for Bibi’s birthday in April, she decided to turn her inquiry towards him and Y/N. 
How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.
Security is long and laborious. One agent yells at him for keeping his shoes on, another rolls her eyes when he asks if his laptop needs to come out of his backpack. In front of him, a frail looking elderly woman struggles with placing the hard plastic bin on the rolling conveyor belt. Behind, grumbles of discontent regarding her holding up the line rise in volume as Wooyoung helps her with her things; sending a smile to her thank you.
And because no good deed goes unpunished, Wooyoung gets pulled for an extra search once he passes the large metal detector.
A burly pale skinned man with blue nitrile gloves sorts through his belongings with the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. Wooyoung’s wrecked and dusty backpack passes inspection easily enough but the contents of his carry-on end up spread across the shiny metal table for further examination under the sterile lights. Gifts for his family, some books he’s teaching next semester, and a navy velvet box he hasn’t left the city without in the past year.
That is apparently the source of interest for TSA as the man pops open the lid to scan the marquis cut diamond ring before putting it back in its place.
“Congrats, man.”
“Thanks.” Wooyoung gives a tight smile.
Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.
He really needs a drink.
Y/N
“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”
“No charge?”
“Not unless you would like to upgrade to business class.”
You have the money and Wooyoung paid for your seat so it’s technically cheaper than it’d usually be. However, Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teachers salary. A few hours of comfort aren’t worth adding to the awkwardness you’ll face over the next week.
 “No, thank you. But if there’s an aisle seat available that’d be great.”
She taps on her keyboard with manicured nails for a moment, the light of the screen reflecting on her face, before speaking with a perfect customer service smile. “Alright, your new flight number is AYX287 and you’ll be flying out of Gate 98.”
“Thank you.” You say, reviewing the boarding pass she printed. Your new gate is on the opposite side of the terminal but you have a little over an hour to make it there.
Rolling your silver carry-on next to you, you weave in and out of the other airport goers heading in the opposite directions. A curse of any crowded space, people forget to walk with a sense of purpose. You dodge a young couple, probably teenagers, standing in the middle of the walkway oblivious to anyone else; only to end up behind an gaggle of older women surrounded by a heavy cloud of perfume and cheap wine. One of their shirts reads “Happily Divorced!” in glittery cursive.
More nimble footwork and multiple sign checks later, you reach the correct wing of the terminal with forty five minutes to spare. Confirming that your gate does in fact exist, you turn back up the walkway to find a drink. Preferably several.
The first time you see Wooyoung in months will require the strongest alcohol you can finally afford now that residency is over and you're making the hefty salary you’d been promised at the start of medical school.
A friendly faced woman, old enough to be your mother, greets you as you take a stool at her bar. 
“Cranberry margarita.”
“Wanna start a tab?”
“Yes, please.” You answer, handing over your credit card.
The first overpriced drink goes down smoothly, a little sweet and perfectly tart. The second and third much the same. Pleasantly buzzed with fifteen minutes till boarding, you cash out and shuffle back to wait by the gate.
And in one of the cramped pleather seats of the waiting area, sits your ex-boyfriend.
Wooyoung
Wooyoung is hallucinating. Two gin and gingers and a THC gummy churning in his stomach make the mirage in front of him look incredibly realistic.
In her usual flying outfit, Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend stands twenty feet away every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw her. Loose gray sweats, the same old hunter green crew neck with the name of his hometown in frayed golden embroidery on the front, sherpa lined short ugg boots, and glasses perched on the end of her nose. The silver carry-on she bought in the airport last time they visited his family at her side.
And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting her lips.
Better he sees her for the first time since their break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, she can kill him multiple times over with her eyes, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.
Or Wooyoung would if she hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.
Wonderful.
Y/N actively avoids looking in his general direction for the next fifteen minutes. An impressive feat given he’s directly in front of the help desk and TV screen displaying updates for their flight. But she digs her nose into her phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is her best friend. If he wakes up to Lisa in his apartment one morning with a knife to his throat, there’ll at least be a paper trail of evidence.
The gate agent booms over the loudspeaker, announcing priority boarding and first class to come forward. Wooyoung’s bank account weeps at the idea of flying first class during Christmas. Who flies first class domestic? A true mystery for the ages.
The familiar head of hair, full of murderous thoughts aimed at him, boards with group three. Flashing a polite smile to the gate agent as she struts down the hall without a glance back. 
When Wooyoung is called with the last group, he’s first in line. The airport is a dog eat dog world and his good deeds end where the boarding line begins.
Nearly every seat is filled when Wooyoung shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t spot Y/N amongst the faces of passengers preparing for the next five hours, some already knocked out with eye masks and neck pillows.
Seat 27A, a window seat Wooyoung paid an extra $37 for, sits next to a blissfully vacant middle seat. There’s also just enough room for his black suitcase to fit overhead, snug between a gray hard case, and a blue duffle. 
The aisle seat in the row is occupied by a man who looks a little younger than Wooyoung's age, a college hoodie and baseball cap similar to his own. He rises, allowing Wooyoung to shuffle by and plop into his chair. Stuffing his backpack under the seat in front, Wooyoung shoots a few last minute texts. One to his family group chat, letting them know the flight is about to take off; resending the flight number for his dad to anxiously track. Another to his roommate group chat, reminding them to cover the drains before they leave town. And a final one to San, begging for thoughts and prayers.
He barely hits send when the seat next to him jostles with the weight of a body. Turning, Wooyoung spots the man in the aisle seat a few inches from himself. On the other side, his ex-girlfriend.
Great.
Y/N
Wooyoung’s familiar mop of dark hair remains unseen through each new rush of passengers, the plane slowly filling up more and more. You dread to think he got stuck the same way you did hours ago, forced on a later flight than intended. If that was the case, would you be stuck at the airport waiting for him? Given his parents had to drive two hours to pick you both up, the answer is probably yes. And two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan.
Nature calls you to the cramped bathroom at the back of the aircraft as passengers at the front continue trickling in. Hopefully Wooyoung is sitting far away from you when you return to your seat.
Stupid motherfucker. You think, rattling the jammed door of the airplane stall in an attempt to force it open. Just as you're about to kick the door down, a flight attendant shoves it aside, flashing a tight smile of displeasure.
Shuffling up back to your seat, you awkwardly wait behind struggling passengers putting away their belongings in the sparse overhead space. Thank the powers that be, your new ticket came with better boarding.
Finally catching up to the familiar faces of the rows around your seat, you turn to find two men in your row. One in your seat, and the other your ex boyfriend.
You stop dead in your tracks, with a loud, “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Sorry!” The man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.
“No! Not you, sorry!”
Wooyoung just stares blankly. If habit and history were to repeat itself, Wooyoung carefully timed an edible before stepping through security. Given his propensity for being obnoxiously early to the airport, he should be high as a kite.
And now you’re stuck next to him drunk as a skunk.
Great.
Taking the now vacant aisle seat, you attempt to ignore Wooyoung once again; plugging in your headphones and pulling out a book you’ve been trying to get through for months. Lisa’s recommendation of smutty fantasy romance with hot immortal faeries. You didn’t see the appeal but at her insistence, you gave it a chance.
“Hey,” calls a voice to your left. 
Nope, not doing this. You think, forcing yourself to read the opening paragraph again but registering none of the words..
“Y/N,” he tries again.
In your periphery, you can see Wooyoung folding over at the waist to look around the man sandwiched between you. 
“What?” You snap, ripping out your headphones.
“How’ve you been?”
Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sink back into your chair, headphones replaced and book in the pocket in front of you. It’s going to be a long flight.
Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will and your flight is no exception. The packed jet is stuck taxing for almost an hour, courtesy of the trademark fog and rain of New York in the winter. You can feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze burn the side of your face, cheeks heating under his scrutiny. But the full scale meltdown threatening to unleash if you entertain him has no place in the sanctity of a last minute holiday flight of people just trying to make it to their next destination.
He doesn’t stop when the plane finally lurches forward, witnessing you brace for the worst part of flying; take off.
The loud rattles and pitch of jet engines skyrocket your blood pressure, flooding your mouth with saliva as a threat of vomiting everywhere; a sickening cold sweat pooling at your back. All you can do is close your eyes, and take deep calming breaths your guided meditation apps recommend. Running through the facts keeps you from descending into full panic. Airplanes are notoriously safe. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. You’re more likely to die in a car crash or from something one of your patient’s brings into the hospital.
But the brief suspension in time and space as you rise through the atmosphere unsettles you to your core. 
The panic steeping into your veins is temporary, eager to vanish the second you reach cruising altitude. It disappears like a late winter snow under early spring sunlight, leaving only trace evidence it ever existed in the first place. But it’ll be back with a vengeance under the screaming brakes and the sounds of wheels hitting pavement as you land.
The seatbelt sign chimes off, and the breath you’d failed to release follows the fading light that illuminated it. 
Wooyoung tries to talk to you another two times before giving up. The final instance is a plea for the bathroom, which you graciously grant; thrilling in the relief you feel at his absence.
The poor guy between you two looks worse for wear, having offered to trade seats with either of you so you didn’t have to talk across him. You apologize once Wooyoung is out of earshot, excusing the strange behavior with a white lie that he's just a friend from college you didn’t get along with and hadn’t seen in a while. The stranger's name is Jay, and he laughs at the irony.
“That’s crazy that you two ended up on the same flight. Are you from Denver?”
“Oh, no. Just visiting some family in Lavensville. What about you?”
“No way! My mom is from Lanesville.”
“Small world,” you laugh. “So what took you to the city?”
“I’m in grad school at Columbia. Getting my MBA.” 
“Excuse me.” Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder.
When you rise, you notice his face is tense as he passes to return to his seat. He pretends to sleep the rest of the flight as you chat with the man next to you. 
Six laborious hours pass before you land in Denver. Exiting the plane, you leave Wooyoung behind in favor of waiting by the restrooms on the way to arrivals. You tap your foot impatiently as he stumbles over, clearly exhausted by the late arrival of your flight and the idea of another two hours in his mom’s cramped sedan.
Shuffling next to one another in somber silence, you wait for Wooyoung to speak first. He dragged you into this, and it’s his job to make it work.
“How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s work?”
“Fine.”
“Okay. Look.” He turns, stepping directly into your path and nearly toppling over when you bounce off his chest. “I’m sorry for all of this but you agreed to come so can we please at least act cordial?”
Unfortunately, Wooyoung is right. He might have put his foot in his mouth, but you didn’t take the chance to bail. He’s only fractionally more guilty than you.
“Fine.” You sigh.
He pins you with a look, eyebrows arched as if asking “are you sure?”
Shuffling around him, you begin your journey to baggage claim once again, Wooyoung hot on your heels.
“I’m working at a hospital uptown, I live in Yorkville, and I still prefer the buses to the train.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m at the same school, in the same apartment, and still living with San and Yeosang. But Mingi moved to Williamsburg with his girlfriend.”
You try to smother the snarkiness of your voice but a sarcastic “I know.” slips free.
Even if you weren’t as close with the boys due to the break up, they’d been your friends as much as his; especially Mingi’s girlfriend, who’d you introduced him to. Lia invited you to their housewarming party when they finally settled in but you missed it due to work, and the nerves of seeing Wooyoung so soon after such a fresh break up. 
The conveyor belt of remaining unclaimed luggage spins like the saddest merry-go-round in existence. Wooyoung jumps forward to snatch your suitcase before you can react, rolling it your direction before diving back in for his own. Once out of the way, he calls his mom to confirm she’s pulling around to pick you two up. 
The silver sedan whips to the curve, Wooyoung’s mom beaming from the driver’s seat.
“My babies!” She cries through the rolled down window.
Mrs. Jung always gave you the enthusiasm your own mother couldn’t feign. Smiling at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can throw it closed.
“Should we tell them I still live in Boston?”
As if you’ve just spoken another language, Wooyoung simply blinks at you.
“How are we gonna explain separate apartments? It makes no sense.”
“Oh,” he gasps, as if the thought didn’t occur to him. “Ugh, yeah good idea.”
The security guard monitoring the pick up area begins striding towards the car, inhaling to yell a warning. Throwing your remaining luggage inside the trunk roughly, you both sprint to enter the vehicle. Wooyoung plants himself in the passenger seat, squeezing his mom in a tight hug as you buckle in the middle seat. Untangling from her needy son, Mrs. Jung peels out and joins the line of cars attempting to merge on the interstate. 
Reclining the seat back, Wooyoung knocks out immediately, leaving you to fend for yourself.
“How’s Boston, dear?” She chimes, voice light and bouncy despite the late hour.
You provide your stock answer for everytime someone asks over the past three years.
“Cold, wet. Lots of sick babies.”
“At least they’re consistent!”
You try to swallow the instinct to comb through Wooyoung’s hair as he naps. The first thing you learned about him in the early phase of your relationship was that Wooyoung needed some kind of physical contact at all times or he’d die. At least, he thought so. It’d been annoying at first; the constant hand holding, suffocating hugs that left your arms useless as you tried to study, even the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach. But over eight years, you grew to appreciate his special way of showing affection. When words failed the man who always had something to say, he relied on touch to convey the things he couldn’t verbalize.
Even if you say all the right things and act like nothing's wrong, anyone who has ever been associated with Wooyoung will know something is up if he isn’t hanging off you like a koala. So if you’re going to pretend the last six months hadn’t happened then you have no reason not to treat him the way you always had.
Your nails snag on a few invisible tangles in his shaggy hair that spills across the cloth seat. It’s longer than when you last saw him in the summer, top half pulled back in an elastic. Continuing to provide updates, you gently brush the bangs hanging in his face. Wooyoung whines sleepily when you pause, causing his mom to laugh.
“Nice to know the city hasn’t changed him.”
Quick to appease, you start again before responding. “Eh, I don’t know about that. Have you seen some of his shoes?”
“Still?” She gasps.
“Unfortunately, I think it’s terminal.”
Mrs. Jung’s cackly laugh is a perfect doppelganger of her son’s. Shrill and mischievous, compelling you to laugh along in pure glee even if you don’t find shared humor; bewitched by the pure joy.
Once the initial rush of reunion wanes, she insists you doze along with her son. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.
Wooyoung
As his mom rolls to a stop in their driveway, the gentle glow of the car's cabin lights draw Wooyoung awake. Eyes only a quarter open, he stretches in the reclined seat with an obnoxious yawn, hands brushing the firm body of Y/N dozing behind him. She shrugs his hand off her thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of her sweater.
“Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.” His mom announces as she opens her door.
Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story, five bedroom, three bathroom, Williamsburg Revival style home with royal blue shutters. His dad added the two car garage himself, meticulously matching the exterior to the existing home, blending old and new seamlessly under the watchful eye of his mom. The now gray and dead garden that usually bloomed wildly below the first floor windows was his grandmother’s contribution when she moved in before Wooyoung started highschool.
When his parents were two college students at the obscure liberal arts college Lavensville was built around, his mom had been obsessed with the very house Wooyoung grew up in. According to his dad, Wooyoung’s mom talked more about the house than anything else; a true historic preservationist to her core.
It was an odd way to ask someone to marry you, but his dad always said “Some women wanted a ring. Your mom wanted this house.”
His dad surprised her with the ring after she stopped crying about the house.
Golden string lights drip from the corners of the roof, casting the exterior in a buttery soft haze. Each window sporting a wreath with a thick red velvet ribbon. A heavy layer of snow coating the ground like powdered sugar makes the entire scene like something out of a snowglobe. 
Another yawn before braving the inevitable blast of chilly air, Wooyoung spots Y/N in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.
Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, crowding her away from the truck as she insists on helping them carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and Y/N’s carryon before he can shoo her towards the path to the front door where his dad is jamming on an old pair of sneakers to come help.
“We got it!” Y/N calls across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as she struggles with her suitcase.
“I can see that.” His dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house to reach them.
His dad lifts her larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while Y/N balances her tote bag and his carryon. The wheels grate against the uneven brick sidewalk as everyone rushes to return to the heated interior of the house.
It’s well past midnight as they climb the staircase in the foyer to the second floor. Wooyoung’s room is just as he left it the last time he visited in the spring. The headboard of the tiny twin bed resting against the wall just under the window looking out to the front yard, posters from his childhood still tacked up crookedly. 
Wooyoung tries very hard not to think about the last time they shared the quilt covered bed of his childhood room. How the last trip here had been the last time Y/N slept in his arms, the last time he laid her bare beneath him. Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it happened.
Sharing the tiny mattress could only mean trouble for the delicate truce Wooyoung had made with her in the airport.
“I can sleep on the floor.” He offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.
Digging in her own suitcase, Y/N scoffs at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”
“She’s gotten better about knocking!”
“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”
Not like that’s gonna happen again.
“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” Y/N says as she grabs her toiletry bag and shuffles to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”
“I’m not a diva” Wooyoung whines after her, rebuttal bouncing off the piece of wood separating them. 
When Y/N returns from the bathroom, Wooyoung takes his turn to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. She leaves the day after Christmas and after he returns to the city he can tell his family they decided to part ways.
Until then, Wooyoung gathers all the patience he typically reserves for the army of eight year olds he deals with every day in an effort to not descend into insanity.
He finds her balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space behind her for him to sink into. Neither says anything as the minutes tick by, both refusing to fall asleep despite the fatigue swirling over them attempting to find root. Back to back, Wooyoung stares at the wall as he tries not to listen to the gentle whoosh of Y/N breath.
December 22nd
Y/N
Shuffling into the cold kitchen, you barely crack your eyes open as you beeline for the coffee pot resting on the counter. Wooyoung’s mom greets you from the dining table, eyes scanning her newspaper as you reply with a mumble “morning.”
One would think years of twenty-four hour shifts and early mornings would make waking up easier but you’d sleep all day if given the chance; however, Wooyoung suffocating you like an octopus forced you from the heated sanctuary under the covers and downstairs. Already it was too easy to pretend you were still together. Waking up tangled in him, his face squashed against your sweater clad chest as he snored, blissfully unaware of the budding panic attack you’d calmed with a freezing shower full of choked tears.
Planting your rear in a dark oak dining chair around the table, the jolt of caffeine and sugar lulls your senses awake as you scroll your phone. 
You send a text to your little brother, confirming your parents had made it to their cruise safely while your flight crossed the country. Two weeks in the Caribbean, all expenses paid, sounded a lot better than a week in rural Colorado with your ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, there’s no cell service in the middle of the ocean; so you don’t need to explain to your mother why you were spending Christmas with Wooyoung, who she truly was never fond of to begin with.
Sometime after bed, Lisa sent a string of vaguely threatening emojis and a picture of her yorkie with the Christmas sweater you bought as an early gift. Assuring her Wooyoung had been on his best behavior so far, you switched over to skim your clogged work email.
“Do you want some breakfast, sweetie?” 
“This is fine.” You say, raising your mug.
“How can you be a doctor and try to tell me coffee is a healthy breakfast?”
“I have horrible news if you think doctors have time to do any of the things we tell people they should.”
“Well it’s a good thing you’re here then because you have plenty of time now.”
Wooyoung
Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment with Y/N for those four years she was in medical school. There’d been plenty of road bumps but spending every night curled up under the comforter with the woman he loved made it all fade to black. He never slept as good as those years.
Except this morning, he wakes up to Y/N’s fingers brushing his hair like she always did when they’d been together, and for a second Wooyoung thinks the entire breakup must’ve been a horrible dream. Wooyoung hadn’t moved a muscle lest the passes of her short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as her heart sang his favorite lullaby.
The second time Wooyoung woke up, she’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all these months apart.
Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as Y/N sits at the counter, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. If Wooyoung had to bet, the ceramic mug probably contained more sugar and milk than anything.
“Morning,” he grumbles, forehead resting against the cool marble of the island as he continues to doze in front of the audience.
His mom pats his back as she passes to reach the fridge, “Go sit down, Woo. You're in my way!”
“Everyone is so mean to me,” he pouts, but rounds the counter to sit next to Y/N nonetheless, resting his cheek on her shoulder, feeling her startle at the contact. 
Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in her sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget their lying to everyone in the gentle passes of her cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.
 “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.” His mom calls over her shoulder, busy with the pan heating in the flames of the stove.
“Where’s Kyungmin?”
“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”
“Sucker,” Y/N mumbles for Wooyoung’s ears only, sending him into giggles.
Wooyoung’s grandmother has a particular way of guilting everyone in his family to do exactly what she wants. It’s why he’s sharing his childhood bed with his ex-girlfriend, why his dad keeps the house unbearably warm all year round, and why his little brother is no doubt undergoing military grade interrogation first thing in the morning.
Going to church with Bibi was less about being closer to God and more about being paraded in front of her old lady friends with single granddaughters. Wooyoung had been a victim until he met Y/N, each summer at home more exhausting than the last with not so subtle reminders Ms. So-and-so's granddaughter was very pretty and very available. But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of the girl he had not so casually started dating fall semester of senior year, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met Y/N at graduation, Wooyoung beamed with the knowledge his entire family not only approved but liked his girlfriend. 
Leaving poor Kyungmin to bare the brunt of Bibi’s well-meaning torture almost made Wooyoung feel guilty. Operative word being almost. Because Wooyoung had survived it, their older brother had survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling.
And the second his family finds out he's technically single, Wooyoung knows it’s only a matter of time before Bibi smothers him in his sleep for breaking up with the girl she considers family. And after, when she resurrects him from the dead, Wooyoung will be thrown to Bibi’s friends like a sacrificial lamb to starving wolves.
Stealing a sip of Y/N’s overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste.
“Wooyoung, you need to make up the guest bed for your brother.” His mom says, dropping a plate of eggs and toast on the counter for him and Y/N to share.
“What about her?” Wooyoung asks, lips stretching as he stuffs his face.
“She’s a guest!”
Washing down a harsh swallow with another sip of coffee, Wooyoung mutters a “hardly,” under his breath.
“Get your own!” Y/N snaps, shoving the mug out of his reach.
Wooyoung responds with a high pitched whine, huffing similar to a toddler rather than a man who's almost thirty. “Why are you both being so mean to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”
Rising to pour his own mug of caffeinated gold, his mom quickly claims the empty chair before she bats Wooyoung away. Claiming something about “girl time” as an excuse to get him out of the kitchen before he can truly annoy them to his fullest potential.
Y/N
When the afternoon rolls around, Bibi greets you with a fierce hug and a grandmotherly pinch to your cheek, smiling up at you as she asks for any and every update since she last saw you in April for her birthday.
Luckily, Kyungmin unconsciously rescues you as he enters the house, boxes piled high in his arms of goodies from the other ladies at church trying to court him on their granddaughter’s behalf. Rushing to his aid, you give him a gentle side hug as you walk with him to the kitchen.
“So…” you start, eyeing the stacks of cookies crowding the counter. “How was church?”
A pained groan answers you, Kyungmin dropping his head to the marble counter with a thud. 
You can’t contain your snicker, snagging one of the deformed gingerbread men to dunk in your fresh cup of coffee.
“Only a few more months,” Kyungmin mutters under his breath, the reprieve of college clearly tethering him to sanity.
Wooyoung told you all about Bibi’s ways when you started dating, thankful to no longer entertain doting mothers and grandmothers interested in him only because he was single and knew basic manners unlike many of the men lurking around Lavensville. Poor Kyungmin didn’t stand a chance if Wooyoung hadn’t managed to charm his way out until he got a girlfriend Bibi approved of.
“At least we get snacks out of it!” You clap, continuing to sort his haul as Kyungmin hides in his arms.
A tan hand sneaks over your shoulder to steal the decapitated cookie still in your grip, turning to see Wooyoung nibbling on arm as he observes the collection of cookies, fruit, and other treats.
“Come on!” You stomp your foot like a toddler.
“Tastes better when it’s stolen.” Wooyoung winks, forcing you and his brother to dry heave in unison. Your reaction isn't genuine, only an effort to hide the squeeze in your chest at how easily he can fall back into old habits after months of radio silence.
Wooyoung’s mom breezes into the kitchen, unbothered by your bickering as she types out a text message.
“Myungho and Mia land in an hour. Your dad is already on the way to pick them up.” She rattles off, more to herself than anyone else. “Kyungmin, you need to tidy all of this up. Wooyoung you already put clean sheets on the guest bed? Great. Y/N, dear, would you mind helping with dinner later?”
“Of course.”
Dinner consists of chili you didn’t assist with other than pulling out extra toppings from the fridge for, and everyone chattering around the table. Myungho is sharing some story about his and Mia’s neighbor who refused to close their blinds, everyone laughing at Mia’s grimace when she recalled the horrors of the “tighty-whities” incident. Each time you stay with the Jung’s you're shocked how well they get along, everyone slotting together perfectly like some cheesy sitcom family.
It’s not that your family didn’t love each other, but there was little bonding you together other than shared blood and memories. Your mom clearly favored your brother while your dad tried to make up for the snub by prioritizing you. Growing up with the invisible competition left bitter resentment to this day. At least now, after years of therapy and freedom from the suffocating expectations of your childhood home, you and your brother shared a mutual understanding that it was your parents fault for the animosity between you. Nothing could the damage already deeply ingrained, but you’d become a more united front during family affairs. 
That’d been the first time you and Wooyoung fought in your tentative relationship. He hadn’t seemed to understand how you could talk about your brother with such vitrole, confused why you weren’t more excited to see him after living in the city permanently since sophomore year. Not that you’d explained your family dynamic prior to calling him in a full blown meltdown in Washington Square Park at midnight. But Wooyoung listened. And when you brought up how perfect his family seemed, he quickly corrected your assumption.
Wooyoung knew his parents loved him and his brothers equally. But they were helping him pay thousands of dollars in tuition out of state for him to be a teacher while his older brother made six figures fresh out of college as an engineer. Even if they were happy for him, Wooyoung struggled with the internal conflict of idolizing his brother and feeling like he’d never measure up.
It’d been the first time Wooyoung cried in front of you.
The tense conversation and awkward small talk of your childhood home didn’t seem to have space here at the Jungs, nothing but laughter and warmth filling each nook and cranny. Even the awkwardness of sitting next to your ex-boyfriend, pretending he was still your partner, seemed to be stifled with the company.
“So, Y/N, when are you planning to move back to New York? You finished residency, right?” Mia asks over her glass of wine, eyes bright.
“Ugh,” you stutter, unprepared for such directness.
“Or maybe you’re thinking of moving to Boston?” She eyes Wooyoung.
“We’re, uh,” Wooyoung pipes up, frantically looking at you.
“I’m looking at jobs in the city but nothings come up yet.” 
“That sucks.” Myungho chimes, working to help their father clear the table for games.
Rather than answering, you take a long draw of your drink before rising to hide in the bathroom.
In the silence of the small half bath under the stairs, you attempt to control your stuttering breath. A few splashes of cool water on your face help shock your system but it does nothing to stop the  It’d taken years to perfect the stone-faced facade you presented to families when the outcome was less than favorable. 
A light tap at the door startles you from the nose dive your conscious has taken.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” You call, scrubbing your hands in the sink.
“It’s me,” Wooyoung chirps on the other side of the wood.
Opening the door, Wooyoung leans his shoulder against the jamb, eying you warily. Pulling him into the cramped space, you press the door closed as you lean against.
“I can’t do this, Woo. I can’t lie to them.”
 “Don’t think of it as lying! Just pretend you're back in that drama class in college!”
“Oh, you mean the class I almost failed because I couldn’t act?” You whisper harshly.
“Just let me take the lead okay? All you have to do is be normal.”
Another knock on the door startles you both. When you got so close to Wooyoung, you have no idea, but there are only a scant few inches between you and you can smell the peppermint schnapps on his breath.
“Wooyoung, Y/N. Is everything okay?”
Twisting around your stiff body, Wooyoung nudges you out of the way as he twists the handle and pulls the door inward.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers, opening the door to a concerned Bibi. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
Bibi brushes past him, the cool back of her wrinkled hand pressing against your forehead. “Are you okay, dear?”
“I’m fine, just got a little light headed.”
One arm curls around yours, the other gently patting your back as Bibi guides you back towards the kitchen with Wooyoung trailing behind.
“You know, when I was pregnant with Wooyoung’s father I got lightheaded all the time.”
“Oh?” 
Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.
“Almost everyday I’d have to drink a gallon of ginger tea just to get out of bed.” She guides you into a seat before turning. “I’ll make you cup while the boys set everything up, okay?”
“That’s really not neccess–”
But Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all.
Wooyoung
Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. Perhaps he should be relieved Bibi moved away from asking when they were getting married and fast forwarding straight to asking for grandchildren. At least Wooyoung hadn’t been as close to being the dad as he was as being a husband. Kids were completely hypothetical; but marriage had almost been a reality.
Kyungmin is already setting up the Scrabble board and dishing out letters. Eight people was far too many so like every year they divide into pairs. Mom and Dad, Myungho and Mia, Kyungmin and Bibi, and him and Y/N.
The board begins to crowd with letters. Bibi and Kyungmin struggle to play anything worth more than fifteen points while his parents brush off challenge after challenge as they fill the board with words like “Paczki” and “Rudistid.”
“Quips, baby! Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a Q?” Mia asks everyone, high fiving Myungho next to her. 
Wooyoung exchanges a conspiratory smile with Y/N before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an I and every other letter I need for QUILTING on a double word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom 96 points.”
Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with Y/N in victory. Their cheeks squish together, matching bright tipsy grins pulled across their lips. Almost like everything is normal.
“No fair! You’re an English teacher!” Kyungmin protests, nostrils flared.
“Yeah to third graders, Minnie. You know just as many words as they do, I promise.”
Y/N doesn’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made her. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of her chair while she settles into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of her head, relaxing firm pressure of her body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.
December 23rd
Y/N
In the cool toned light of the snowy dawn, you wake in Wooyoung’s arms once again. This time you're both on your sides, Wooyoung pressed firmly behind you as he snores in your ear. A familiar lump pokes against your rear, scorching your skin through the layers of clothes that serepate you.
Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet moan fleeing your lips as Wooyoung flexes his arms to hold you tighter, his hips rolling against you harshly to pin you to him.
Blame it on the months without feeling another person’s touch, or the liminal space that exists when the world is asleep and void of any real consequences, but a hollowness stings your core and dampens your panties.
Years of dating meant years of exploring one another’s bodies, discovering every spot that drove the other mad and perfecting the balance of teasing and satisfaction. You still remember the first night in your shared apartment years ago; Wooyoung blindfolded and tied to the bed, putty under your fingers as you rode him until your eyes felt permanently crossed and your legs numb. And just when you thought the night was over, sated with his cum leaking onto the sheets, Wooyoung knotted the silk scarf around your own wrist and “cleaned up” the mess between your thighs until you actually blacked out.
The very memory has you arching backwards, clenching around nothing but disappointing emptiness.
It’s wrong. So so so wrong. To fantasize about your ex-boyfriend while he’s asleep next to you, none the wiser to your stuttered breath and pounding heart.
But the way his hand on your stomach fists the fabric of your shirt, pulling you into him again, beckons you closer to the edge of temptation. Wooyoung told you to act natural. What’s more natural than enjoying some half asleep heavy petting? You’re already pretending to date him, why not reap some of the old benefits you’d missed in your time apart?
Just as you turn in Wooyoung’s arms, set on waking him with an offer even he can’t refuse, he yawns awake. Arms stretching high, he pushes you from the toasty covers and onto the floor with a bang!
“Jesus Christ!” You groan, jolting pain in your elbow shocking your system as it catches the edge of the bed frame.
Wooyoung’s head pops over the side of the mattress, “Why’re you down there?”
Scoffing, the back of your head thuds against the floor; eyes sinking shut as you fight the urge to murder him. Three more days and you’ll never have to deal with the ridiculousness that follows Wooyoung like a shadow. 
You hear, rather than see, Wooyoung exit into the hallway. Stretching your lungs around another deep breath, you follow behind him. Passing the bathroom door as you pad down stairs, you're greeted with an empty kitchen. The stove clock reads just past nine so more bodies should trickle in soon, called by the coffee you’ve begun brewing. Sending a silent prayer to the universe, you prepare for quality time with Mrs. Jung and Mia. Another day of lying to the people who treat you better than your own family. 
Wonderful.
Wooyoung
Like a teenager with his first wet dream, Wooyoung hides in the sanctuary of the bathroom.Thankfully, his brothers aren’t prone to waking before noon and he stakes his claim by locking the door and entering the steam.
Maybe dry humping his ex-girlfriend while half asleep was a bad idea but Wooyoung knows she pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard the whimper she tried to silence, felt her press her legs together the way she did when she was wet and needed his help.
Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch her to the floor but overdue break up sex with the rest of the house due to wake up any minute couldn’t be a good idea. And with three more days of their charade Wooyoung needed less complications, not more.
But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of them together from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of his ex-girlfriend in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down her nose as she sits in his lap. And his personal favorite, Y/N on her knees, eyes watering as her swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of her throat.
The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung watches his cum sink down the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.
As Wooyoung descends to the living room, he spots his dad and his brothers watching a documentary on the Discovery channel. Sinking into the worn leather of their ancient couch, he cracks open one of the books he brought from home. Brave New World wasn’t light reading, but he’d been meaning to give it a try since Yeosang recommended it to him and what better way to spend his free time? 
Soon enough, his dad snores from his spot in the recliner, chin tipped back against the headrest. Kyungmin remains entranced by the colorful birds dancing across the screen while his other brother no doubt taps away at work emails cluttering his phone despite the holidays. It’s the kind of peace and content Wooyoung loved about his family. Co-existing without needing to interact, enjoying each other's presence while living their own lives.
Y/N
The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights of the nail salon. Mia is happily chattering away, blasting through any stilled pauses or awkward silences. Bibi and Mrs. Jung sit at the counter getting their nails painted by the attendants in calm silence.
You try not to kick the young woman scrub your foot as she brushes against your ticklish nerves, squirming in your seat as she gives a tight lipped smile at your discomfort. For a week off for Christmas you cashed in every favor, picked up every single on call asked of you, nearly breaking under the demand to stretch yourself so thin as the new doctor in your department. The horrific results of hours on your feet were being ground down and clipped before you. 
Relaxing was… difficult for you. Or other peoples’ definition of relaxation was. To you, the perfect day off was running around town, hitting an early morning pilates class followed by an overpriced coffee and finding something to do in the city that offered everything. Sitting still was a necessary evil to get to and fro but it left you to stew with your thoughts you preferred to drown in an overwhelming weight of activity.
“Y/N,” Mia calls, bringing you to turn and look at her. 
Her usually glowing face is apprehensive, lip worried between her teeth and eyes downcast.
“Yeah?” 
“You work with kids, right?”
“All day.” You laugh, trying to break the tension.
Mia hesitates, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “After all the stuff you’ve seen, do you still want them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you and Wooyoung think you’ll have kids someday?”
“I mean not anytime soon considering…”
That we aren’t together. You finish in your mind.
But Mia assumes the unspoke truth is the fact you’re supposed to be living in Boston while Wooyoung is living in New York.
“I mean of course, but like you guys both work with kids and I feel like you know the worst that could happen! My friend Mina just had her baby and she says she can’t sleep. She just sits up all night watching him because she’s afraid somethings gonna happen.”
“Mia, are you and Myungho?”
“Not yet,” she smiles. “But we’ve been talking about it more and I know I want that with him but I’m just—”
“Scared?”
She nods sheepishly.
Hesitating as you weigh your next words carefully, you think about all the conversations you’ve had with worried parents. Most of the kids and parents you met were under less than positive circumstances. Babies with underdeveloped lungs, toddlers who couldn’t breath from just sitting up. You’d be lying if it didn’t make you question having your own. The powerlessness you felt when no matter how hard you worked to fix things it was all for naught. 
But all of the bad days don't outweigh the good ones. When NICU preemies got to leave the ward with their families for the first time. Having a child take their first full breath because their medication was finally starting to work. The plethora of thank you cards hanging on your fridge and displayed in your office from the families you’d helped.
And you remember all the stories Wooyoung told you about his classroom. Kids who could barely read falling in love with the books he gave to them, hounding him for more stories. When he made way with a problem child, watching them begin to excel under his gentle guidance. Giggling at Wooyoung hiding his tears at the end of year advancement ceremony when all his third graders became fourth graders every year.
“I think being scared means you care. And you can always call me if you’re worried, no matter what happens.”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Mia laughs.
“You’re gonna be a great mom.” You whisper, squeezing her arm.
Mia squeezes your hand back, “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”
“Me too.”
You look away as Mia blinks, breathing away the wetness glossing your own eyes.
Upon returning home, you find all four men passed out in various positions in the living room. Mr. Jung in the recliner that predates your birth, mouth wide open and glasses crooked on his nose. Sprawled across the floor is Kyungmin, gangly teenage limbs starfished to the edges of the carpet. Wooyoung and Myungho share a blanket across their laps, both with their backs on opposite sides of the couch. 
You four try to contain your laughter at the sight. If there was any doubt about who fathered the Jung boys, the shaggy black hair and symphony of identical snores would easily lay those rumors to rest. 
Bibi shuffles down the hall to her room, claiming a nap to be a great idea after the pampering from the nail salon. Mia and Mrs. Jung head into the kitchen, each teething with bulging bags of groceries for tonight's gingerbread competition.
But you can’t take your eyes off Wooyoung. The only time he ever looked so peaceful was when he was sleeping, face positively boyish and missing the stress induced wrinkles from managing a class of eight year olds. The urge to cross to him and kiss the freckle on his lower lip floods your brain but you’re able to stuff it down when he whines in his sleep, twisting to re-adjust on the lumpy couch.
Following the shuffle of plastic bags echoing from the kitchen, you busy yourself with unpacking the boxes of pre-made gingerbread houses, candy, and tubes of icing. Neatly organizing the packages on the counter, Mrs. Jung pushes you and Mia upstairs as she starts to prepare dinner.
The clock on the stove shows it’s closing in on three, giving you enough time to shower and have a nap of your own before the mayhem of the evening.
Cranking the faucet to the highest setting, you waste no time waiting for it to heat as you jump under the cold water. Wooyoung called you a psychopath the first time he witnessed you shower routine but you’d been busy applying for medical school, working in the student health center, and tutoring in the biology lab, all while maintaining a perfect GPA in the fall semester of your senior year; you didn’t have time for the simple pleasures of wasting precious minutes while your apartment’s old pipes struggled to carry hot water through the faucet. And as they say, old habits die hard.
The chill brings sharp clarity with it. It’d only been two days and you’d already fallen into the same bickering as before, been tempted to kiss him when no one was around to fool, and nearly fucked him in his childhood bed. 
Three more days. You think, shivering lessening as steam billows around you. 
Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.
Wooyoung
The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of Y/N curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles her face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world she’s lost in. 
Wooyoung aches to wake her up with innocent kisses as he holds her to his chest, fingers ironing out the wrinkles of her forehead as she breaches the surface of sleep. To smile at her whines of protest of being interrupted from a rare opportunity to rest without worrying about work or some other responsibility.
But what Wooyoung wants, he doesn’t deserve. As bold and indulgent as he might be in front of the prying eyes of his family, he isn’t cruel. Even if it kills him not to touch her like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject her to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling Y/N into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 
“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding her shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”
She responds with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over her head to hideaway.
“C’mon it's almost time for dinner.” 
“Youngie, it’s cold.” Y/N protests as he tries to lift the covers.
Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from her iron grip.
“I can get Bibi up here.”
Flying into a seated position, she blinks against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 
“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”
Y/N mutters empty threats under her breath the entire way to the kitchen, so close she’s cast in his shadow under the threat of Bibi’s wake up methods. Nothing like a woman pushing eighty banging pots over your head to get the blood pumping.
Everyone else already crowds the table, picking apart the trays of snacks as they organize their supplies kits. 
Jung family tradition requires everyone, sans Bibi, to decorate their own house according to the year's theme. After an hour, she picks her favorite and the winner has the honor of opening the first present on Christmas morning. Y/N demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year she entered the competition; Mia taking her place the next year in Y/N’s absence. Since then, Kyungmin reigned supreme despite his creation looking like a haunted house no matter what the theme was.
“Alright,” Bibi stands once Wooyoung and Y/N have taken their seats at the end of the table. “This year's theme is movies. On your mark, get set. Go!”
A room full of adults, plus Kyungmin who's only a few months short, should act with a sense of decorum and dignity. A fair and clean competition in the name of holiday spirit, family, and comradery.
But Jung house rules mean cheating is not only expected, it’s encouraged.
The table is warzone. Icing dripping off the sides and onto the tile floor. Candies trailing everywhere like shrapnel. Mia hides a piece of Myungho’s roof in her lap, and their mom steals the level their dad insists on using every year. Even Kyungmin slowly starts hoarding the bags of colorful royal frosting one by one in the pocket of his hoodie before anyone can notice.
Wooyoung catches Y/N attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. Their half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What she doesn’t know is that those are her gumdrops and his are stashed under the table since they sat down.
The little sugar addict is nothing if not predictable.
Most of the houses are beginning to take shape, albeit much more loose definitions of whatever each person decided to do. Kyungmin’s house is poop green with a red roof, streaks of color patchy against the brown cookie sheets. His mom sticks with the traditional decorations instructed on the packaging, no doubt prepared to argue it somehow fits the theme despite being the same every year. Mia’s is laced garishly with pink and pastels, while Myungho crumbles pieces of his for whatever godforsaken reason.
Wooyoung focuses on decorating his tiny gingerbread man with black slashes and stripes.
“Time!” yells Bibi as she whacks the bottom of a pot with a wooden spoon, everyone drops their last piece of candy before hands fly up.
As always, his mom manages to be the only one to finish due to years of practice. Everyone else’s houses are… interesting.
“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.
“The Grinch?” Y/N asks, confused by the horrendous green and red abomination.
“See, you get it!” 
Shaking her head, Y/N points to her own monstrosity. “Okay, so the yellow skittles are the yellow brick road and the green on the house is meant to look like the Emerald City from Wizard of Oz.”
Perhaps if the Emerald City burned to the ground and became ruins but everyone nods at the vision.
“Mine is supposed to be Barbie's Dream house.” says Mia, gesturing to the mound of pink frosting sliding from the roof.
Myungho slams a toy dinosaur from their childhood on top of his pile of cookie pieces before declaring, “Jurassic Park.”
“Home Alone,” his mom chimes.
A chorus of groans around the table answer.
His dad’s is covered in chocolate bars and marshmallows. It looks decent but Wooyoung doesn’t get it until he tells them it’s “Willy Wonka.”
Nodding in appreciation, Wooyoung presents his.
“Nightmare Before Christmas.”
The gray and black icing swirl to make a ugly blob, but Wooyoung will argue it’s exactly what he was going for. Especially with his miniscule Jack Skellington perched in the yard.
Bibi circles the table, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each entry. She shakes her head at Kyungmin, clearly disappointed in his failure this year. 
“Eunkyung wins!” She cheers, raising his mom’s hand like she won a boxing match.
Claps and whoops fill the kitchen as she beams, proud to win a second time in the history of the competition. 
“Wooyoung, put the winning house on the mantel please.” His dad asks, already moving towards the pantry for trash bags.
“Your majesty.” Wooyoung bows in front of his mom, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.
What he fails to realize is Y/N is leaving the same door he is, and that a sprig of green leaves sit just above their heads.
“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.
“Huh?” Grunts Y/N, confused.
Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 
If they were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop her into his arms and make an entire production of giving her a short peck on the cheek, his parents were watching after all, while Y/N laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into her eyes, barely missing the nod as she leaves a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.
Even under the brief contact, Wooyoung’s lips feel like they’ve been zapped with lightning; his entire body on high alert. So lost in his own world, Wooyoung doesn’t realize he watches her walk away until she’s turning a corner and is out of sight. 
Remembering the gingerbread house still in his hand, Wooyoung continues into the living room to place it front and center on the mantel. 
Y/N
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! You think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.
You’d spent the rest of the night sweaty and flushed, stuttering like an idiot because of a G-rated kiss with your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud. 
What was wrong with you? 
It was like the butterflies of the beginning of your relationship were waking from dormancy, demanding to let loose in your chest.
But none of this is real. Wooyoung only reached out so Bibi wouldn’t be upset over a last minute cancellation. He didn’t ask to explain why he ended your relationship so suddenly. Didn’t try to weasel his way back in and kiss everything better. All the touching and joking you’d missed so much were nothing more than an elaborate plan for Wooyoung to not be seen as the bad guy by his family. His way of delaying the inevitable. 
And you’d fallen right into the mess subconsciously hoping it might have meant something more. 
The foaming residue of toothpaste splashes against the porcelain sink as you finish washing up. Hiding in the bathroom can only buy you so much time before you have to face Wooyoung again, a new feast of tension waiting for you on a silver platter.
His tiny room is notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets. Hopefully, he stays away until you're fully unconscious and able to avoid the entire ordeal.
A draft of frigid air invading the warm haze under your mountain of quilts wakes you. Wooyoung shushes your indignant protest, pulling the top layers off. His weight doesn’t dip the bed behind you. Instead, you listen as he shuffles around, the dull thud of pillows and blankets hitting the floor. When he quiets, you turn to see him curled into a ball on a makeshift sleeping matt next to the bed. 
The questions burn on the tip of your tongue. Why is he sleeping on the floor? Was he that upset about the kiss? 
But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.
December 24th
Wooyoung
Christmas eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night sleep on the freezing unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. 
He’d risen early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space. Y/N slept soundly, back turned away from him as he evaded her successfully.
A fresh powder of snow fell sometime in the night. So with a hot cup of coffee and a need to get lost in something mindlessly physical, Wooyoung heads to the garage for a shovel to clear the sidewalk and driveway.
Wooyoung knows he should apologize to her. She’d basically avoided him after they got caught under the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite for her to do so. Technically, she kissed him. But the entire situation wouldn’t exist if he didn’t put his foot in his mouth.
Plus, the entire ordeal of yesterday morning couldn’t be ignored. And Wooyoung was ashamed he didn’t feel ashamed.
Mind numb in the cold monotony of moving slush from the concrete to the yard, muscles burning at the strain, Wooyoung loses track of time as the sun moves across the sky.
His dad finds him shoveling the end of the driveway, pants soaked and breath heaving. 
“You okay, kid?” the older man asks, sipping his thermos.
“Fine,” Wooyoung pants. “Why?”
“Because you’re out here.”
“Just helping out.”
“Wooyoung.” A sharp sternness to his tone as his dad’s gloved hands halt the shovel.
He hates that voice. Wooyoung’s dad was soft spoken and good natured, the quietest member of their boisterous family. Always gentle with three rowdy sons that constantly pushed the endless bounds of his patience. Wooyoung can count on one hand the times his dad used this voice on him. Apparently now is one of those times.
Wooyoung looks his dad in the eye before lying to his face, “I’m fine. Really.”
Eying his son skeptically, Wooyoung’s dad clearly doesn’t believe him. 
“Alright.” he drawls. “But come inside, your mom made pancakes.”
Y/N
“Come on Kyungmin, we don’t want to be late!” Bibi calls from the hallway.
In front of you, Kyungmin blanches; terrified of another day surrounded by prodding grandmothers. He looks at you for help, but you offer a sympathetic smile and a shrug of shoulders. If only he knew how much torture you were being subjected to in the name of keeping Bibi happy.
Wooyoung had been scarce since the early hours of the morning, slaving away at clearing the driveway alone. He made a brief appearance at breakfast and lunch but found any excuse to stay faraway from whatever room you planted yourself in. 
Taking the hint, you set up camp in the kitchen. Laptop screen reflecting off your blue-light glasses as you skimmed another journal article about forced oscillation technique and impulse oscillometry. Fascinating as it was to you, it’s just boring enough to anyone else to keep them away; allowing you to waste away the entire afternoon in the most productive way possible.
The sun is already setting by the time others begin to trickle into the kitchen. Mia begins filling snack trays for the trademark movie night; half sweet, half savory. While Myungho sets to work on a batch of mulled cider they picked up at the market.
Kyungmin stomps into the kitchen with a fuming Bibi hot on his heels.
“They’re nice girls, Kyungmin. There was no need to be rude!”
Your wide eyes meet Mia's twin expressions of shock. The youngest was a sweet kid; perhaps he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager after all. To hear he’s been out right rude and in front of Bibi no less, comes as a surprise.
“You’re crazy!” Kyungmin yells, arms waving wildly before he flees to his room.
The sudden silence of the kitchen is rattling. No one moves or speaks as Bibi starts organizing random objects and mail on the counter, clearly uncomfortable with her grandson’s outburst.
Slipping from your chair, you turn to follow in the direction you know he’s bound for.
Winter in Colorado is brutal enough, but the wind slicing across your cheeks as you teeter out a tiny window onto the roof at the back of the house makes you regret wearing only a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 
Kyungmin’s lone figure is illuminated in the silver moonlight. A telltale stench fills your nostrils despite the thick smoke evaporating in the wind the second it leaves his mouth. Waddling towards him on your butt, you stop next to him. He passes the glass bowl into your waiting hand without a peep. 
You take a long hit before speaking, allowing the tingle of THC to flutter through your veins. 
“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, cradling your knees to your chest in an effort to conserve warmth.
“No.”
“Okay.”
The thick woods fencing in the backyard bends in the wind. Pine trees shake the fronds like feathers, fluffing up as the wind flutters by. A lone swing, attached to a rickety playground set, swings back and forth. It’s beautiful and eerie. Only your breath and the occasional cough from Kyungmin disturbs the fragile place.
“I can’t wait to go to college.” Kyungmin mutters from under his hood.
“Have you heard from anywhere yet?”
“No. But I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not here.”
“Was it that bad?”
“She’s crazy! All of them in that fucking church are insane!”
“Wooyoung told me the same thing.” You chuckle.
“They just stare at me. It’s creepy.” 
“Yeah, that sounds pretty creepy.”
“And Andi just laughs whenever I try to tell her about it.”
“Who’s Andi?”
“A friend.” 
Kyungmin’s tense response tells you Andi isn’t just a friend at all.
“What's she like?”
“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school.”
“Oh?”
“And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, she is.”
“So you like her?”
“I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”
“Kyungmin…”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league.” Kyungmin sighs.
“Why do you think that?”
“She’s smart, and she’s athletic, and she’s funny. She wouldn’t see me like that.”
“Okay.” You nod, “Well, when Bibi started pimping you out at church, what did Andi do?”
“She got really mad when I went on a date with one of them.”
“Oh, really?”
“She didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I thought she was just, like, on her period or something.”
Shaking your head, you turn to face the ignorant boy. “Alright, first things first. Never, under any circumstances, assume a girl is mad at you because she’s on her period. Ask your brothers or your dad how that's worked out for them. Second, how would you feel if Andi went on a date with someone?”
Face twisting in disgust, Kyungmin grabs the piece again to take a hit.
“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”
Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”
“Party out here?” Myungo calls from the window.
Turning, you spot Wooyoung and Mia peaking around his broad shoulders.
“Yeah but it’s B.Y.O.W.”
“Perfect.” He calls back, folding in half to step on the roof.
“Just think about what I said, okay?”
“Okay.” Kyungmin promises as he links his pinky with yours.
Mia and Myungho land on Kyungmin’s other side, a joint visible in Mia’s dainty fingers. Wooyoung plops down next to you, lifting the bowl from Kyungmin and dumping the ash on to the roof.
As he focuses on packing it, you get your first glimpse of him all day. The tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, no doubt from the hours he spent outside or in the garage doing who knows what. Wooyoung’s hair is a mess of tangles, sticking this way and that in the wind and you choke on the urge to straighten it for him. 
You’ve never been good at staying mad at him, even when he’s clearly in the wrong. And what’s worse is Wooyoung knows it. 
Wisps of smoke pour from his nostrils before he passes you the bowl again. Shaking your head, Kyungmin plucks it from his brother’s fingers.
You feel Wooyoung’s breath caress the shell of your ear before he speaks.
“What are you guys doing out here?” He whispers.
“Bibi.” You whisper back.
Wooyoung nods lazily, eyes glazed already. Landing on his back, he looks up to the sky. 
The pale light sharpens his features. Strange how all three brothers looked so similar yet different. Kyungmin still had the round cheeks of adolescents, limbs gangly as he towers over his brothers at only seventeen. Myungho was broader than both but only a fraction taller than Wooyoung, square jaw and cropped hair. But Wooyoung was all angles and sharpness. Even from the first night he approached you in that dingy karaoke bar near campus, you knew he was handsome. But now he looks ethereal. Like some beautiful demon coming to take your soul and laugh all the while. 
Eventually you all end up shoulder to shoulder, each lost and thought and staring at the lonely full moon above. Wooyoung’s hand brushes your own, sending throbbing jolts of electricity through your body. Hooking your pointer finger around his, Wooyoung sighs next to you before settling. 
It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.
Wooyoung
Exhaustion and pot nearly knock Wooyoung out as he passes his bedroom door. An early night, lost in the land of dreams where he doesn’t have to think about why he can’t look Y/N in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted her on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was her own family; how he wanted to cry when her fingers circled his own. 
Wooyoung’s attempt to uncomplicate his life only seemed to tighten the noose around his neck.
Jung family tradition dictates a Christmas movie with gross amounts of sugary snacks on Christmas Eve. The tradition started before Wooyoung could remember but it’d been his favorite all the same. What little kid didn’t cherish the opportunity to wake up to Santa dropping presents under the tree? Not that he or his brothers managed to stay awake more than half way through whatever movie his parents pulled from the dusty DVD collection on the bookshelf. But as he grew older, Wooyoung appreciated the uninterrupted time he was gifted to spend with his family, especially with each of them living in separate corners of the country.
The new set of matching pajamas every year were simply a bonus.
This year’s boast a deep green with a vintage Christmas light pattern. The inner flannel is positively delightful against Wooyoung’s freezing skin, lulling him into a light doze as leans against the couch between Y/N’s spread legs. 
Kyungmin sprawls in his usual place on the rug in front of the coffee table, glazed eyes glued to Will Ferell terrorizing New York City in yellow tights. Mia and Myungho are off on the other side of the couch, Bibi taking the middle seat. His parents are snug in his dad’s recliner, resembling two teenagers rather than the fifty year olds they really are. Adorably disgusting how in love they still are. 
Resting his cheek against Y/N’s knee, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch her. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, Wooyoung is too weak to stop himself. And considering the way she keeps staring at him every time she thinks he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think Y/N would want him to stop either. 
Bedtime is the same awkward dance as before. His entire family pulls each other into tight hugs, mostly aided by the edibles Myungho slipped them before they all descended downstairs. Calls of “Love you,” and “see you in the morning,” land against his back as he trails behind Y/N.
They get ready for bed in the dark, flashes of bare skin visible in the light trickling in from the cracked curtains covering the lonely window. Turning to face the wall, Wooyoung plugs in his phone while he listens for her to land on the mattress.
When the shuffling ceases, he finds her in a nest on the floor, back towards him.
“What are you doing?”
“You took the floor last night.”
“You don’t hav–”
“Just go to bed.” She bites, voice fragile.
“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he huffs, temper rising as he crosses to the other side of the mattress.
“I’m fine.” 
“Just take the bed.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out her scowl. “Why do I need to explain everything to you?”
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I’m stubborn? Me?”
“Considering you’re the one on the floor while the bed is empty, yes you’re the stubborn one.”
“Because I’m fine here!”
Wooyoung wades through the quicksand of his brain for a response. Upon finding none, he flops on the pile of blankets next to her.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping. Now shut up.”
“Wooyoung,” she sighs.
No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep next to her on the floor if she continues to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, Y/N was a menace. She’d cave eventually when her hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.
Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to her. His entire left side burns in her heat, acutely aware of every shift of her weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from their kiss. A childish brush against his mouth but he can’t stop replaying it in his mind over and over. And when he thinks about yesterday morning, when he dreamed about her and then woke up flushed against her, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.
When Y/N stops twitching beneath the covers behind him, breath even and shallow, Wooyoung finally follows her into sleep.
December 25th
Wooyoung
Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. Wooyoung hears the first crash slide under the crack beneath his door, an ice bath to his system.
He’s still on the floor, a foot between him and Y/N. 
“Get up.” Wooyoung shakes her, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.
She groans in the morning light, eyes crusted as she looks for the disturbance.
Another shrill beat sings through the hall. Much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.
“Shit!” 
Y/N tackles him into the pillows. Both attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi standing in the doorway.
“RISE AND SHINE!” His grandmother wails, drumming a rhythmless beat and she turns to stalk towards Kyungmin’s room at the end of the hall.
Dual sighs of relief leave their lips, Y/N rising to stalk to the bathroom without looking back.
Y/N
Mrs. Jung’s victory grants her the privilege of opening the first present this morning. Everyone gathers around, matching states of messy hair and bed-wraggled pajamas, to shred shiny wrapping paper at ten in the morning.
Her first gift is the large rectangle box addressed from her sons, all of them failing to stifle their matching laughter as she slowly unwraps the picture frame. You and Mia had helped arrange the picture last time everyone was together for Bibi’s birthday, sneaking out of the house with the excuse of seeing a movie when you drove to the mall for an old school photoshoot at the department store. 
Wooyoung’s parents join in the giggling bouncing of the walls as they take in all three boys dressed head to toe in denim, arms wrapped around on another’s waists prom-date style as they stare dead faced at the camera. The cherry on top is their matching bowl cuts, making them resemble a nineties boy band. Another frame slips out of the paper, a similar photo of you and Mia except her chin rests on top of your head, eyes obscured by yellow tinted sunglasses.
“Oh my god,” Mrs. Jung guffaws. “You all are ridiculous.”
Passing the frames around the room, Mrs. Jung takes turns hugging her sons along with you and Mia. 
“Oh, my girls. Thank you for putting up with them.” She whispers into your ears, Mia on her left and you on her right. 
You refuse to think about how tomorrow you’ll leave their house for the last time as you squeeze her back tightly. 
As the youngest, Kyungmin is charged with passing out rounds of presents while Mr. Jung collects the discarded ribbons and paper. Thankfully, bringing a gift for Wooyoung wasn’t an expectation. Why sacrifice sacred luggage space to exchange gifts with someone who lives in your backyard? Mia and Myungho never brought their gifts for one another, and you and Wooyoung followed suit.
But that didn’t stop you from braving the hoards of the city in an effort to last minute Christmas shopping before flying out. Bibi loves the fancy lotion you brought her, and Kyungmin is more than satisfied with the promise of whatever new video he can afford with a Playstation gift card. Wooyoung’s parents leaf through the books you bought in a last ditch effort to provide some sort of parting gift. Myungho screams as he unwraps the mug with “IBS: I be shitting” blasted across the front and Mia opens each tin of specialty tea for a whiff of the herbal scents.
Hours later, surrounded in the disarray of boxes and bows, Mrs. Jung announces it’s time for brunch. Everyone takes turns washing up or teetering upstairs to brush their teeth but she pulls you aside before you have a chance to follow.
“Y/N, we have one last gift for you.” She whispers, removing a small box from behind her back. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone just in case but I want you to know how much we all love you.”
You pull out a cardboard box and a thick card.
“To my future Daughter in Law,
There isn’t a single day I don’t thank the stars for how lucky my son is to find someone as incredible as you. He’s a better person because of you and our family is so blessed to have you in it. I was lucky enough to be given three amazing sons but now I’m fortunate enough to have two daughters as well. 
Love, Mrs. Jung”
Each word is a new punch to the gut, tears swelling in the corner of tight eyes. Focusing on opening the box in an effort not to break down in the hallway, you unveil a simple silver chain with a knotted pendant. The same you’ve seen Mia and Mrs. Jung wear on special occasions.
“Oh, I can’t—”
“Nope. I won’t hear a word of it! It’s family tradition. Bibi gave me mine, and now I get to give you yours.”
“But I really—”
But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Slipping the delicate piece of jewelry out of the box, she slips it around your neck and straightens it before you can stop her. When she’s happy, you fall into her arms in a fierce hug as you weep into her shoulder.
“Oh sweetie,” she coos, patting your back comfortingly; clearly thinking you're overcome with emotion at officially being a part of the family.
You don’t correct her. Why ruin such a heartfelt moment by shattering the illusion now that you're so close to the end? Instead, you take comfort in her embrace, willing the tears to stop with the same principle you use in the hospital: save the crying for the shower.
Stepping out of the hug, you allow her to wipe away the trails of tears marring your cheeks with soft swipes of her thumbs, a soft smile at her tutting over you. Mrs. Jung pulls you into one last bear hug before pushing you upstairs to compose yourself.
Wooyoung stares as you pass him on the stairs, evidently alarmed at the evidence of your crying. But you keep your eyes down as you trudge by. 
Wooyoung
Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make Y/N so upset but his mom keeps squeezing her shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in her direction. The new necklace circling her neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 
Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines Y/N into a fierce squeeze, practically bouncing off the walls with giddiness. He doesn’t have time to ask what it’s about before another movie is starting on the TV to wind down for the evening.
He can feel the tension rolling off her in waves next to him. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before she had to take her MCAT or open exam results. When the screen fades to black, Y/N is up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.
Following her up, Wooyoung finds her perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between her collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his veins all day.
“What’s the necklace about?”
“Your mom gave it to me.”
“I thought so.” He nods. “But why was everyone acting weird about it?”
Rather than answer, Y/N hands him a note. Wooyoung recognizes the tight cursive of his mom’s handwriting. Regret trickles down his spine and bubbles over with each word. He’d never meant to be cruel when he asked Y/N to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been for her. To secretly say goodbye to his family and their relationship after she was already working through it on her own. He should have known she was bottling it all up, the same way he was prone to.
“I didn’t realize she’d—”
“Why did you break up with me?” She asks, still staring at the floor.
Regret transforms into the shame that’s eaten him alive for months. Wooyoung’s mouth won’t form the truth for what he did so he lies.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit!” She bites, glazed eyes blazing as she rounds on him. “Eight years. We dated for eight years and you think you can tell me you don’t know why?”
“We dated for eight years and you didn’t even say anything when I did it! You just left.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”
“You just gave up.”
“No, you gave up!” her voice cracks, finger pointing accusingly. “I didn’t even know we were having problems.”
“Boston was always a problem!”
“Which I was already planning to fix.”
Wooyoung recoils from the invisible smack against his face. Is that what she was planning to tell him when he interrupted her? 
“What?”
“That night I was trying to tell you I got a job in the city. That I was moving back.”
“You’re joking.”
Shoulder sagging under the weight of their mess, Y/N falls back onto the bed.“It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”
Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. And Wooyoung gathers the courage to tell her the truth.
“I was planning to propose.” He can see her head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he sees her face so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead as he speaks. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.
“You what?”
“I got scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of everything. I thought of how much we’d have to change, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give anything up to be with me.”
“Wooyoung, I never felt like that.” She objects, shaking her head. “I hated Boston. Do you think I was moving back to the city for you?”
“Kind of, I—”
“I have my own life there. I lived there for seven years! I was always planning to move back.”
“Then why were you being so secretive about it?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed and I ddin’t want to add something else to your plate and… because I was worried if I brought it up too soon something would go wrong.”
“I still have it by the way.”
“What?”
“The ring.”
“Why?”
“I think some part of me feels like if I let it go then it’s really over.”
“Are you trying to tell me you want to get back together?”
“I didn’t want to break up to begin with.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“Because I’m not good enough for you! I’ve never been good enough and I know you say it's not true but it is. I’m a public school teacher with shit pay and an apartment I can barely afford. That’s all I can offer you and it isn’t close enough to what you deserve.”
“Do you think I’m that shallow?” Y/N fumes, clearly not understanding what Wooyoung meant. “Why do you think you get to decide what's good enough for me?”
“Because someone has too! One day you’re gonna wake up and realize you can have anyone you want.”
“Not anyone.”
Y/N
The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the stifling steam and perfumed bubbles, you quietly let all the emotions of the day run wild; eyes puffy, face swollen, and snot dripping from your nose to be washed away by the boiling streams of water. You hide for as long as possible, shivering as the heated water runs out and frigid ropes blast your skin. Unable to endure anymore of the stinging icicles, you exit the stall red nosed and blue lipped. 
Wooyoung sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. You watch his shoulder tense, rising closer to his ears as you pad closer to lay down. 
You’re too tired to sleep on the floor, too exhausted to fight with him again. So you curl under the covers, body sliding back when Wooyoung joins you. 
“I’m sorry.” he whispers, tracing his index finger along the knobs of your spine, attempting to comfort you the same way he always had.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
You both stay there in the silent darkness, their breaths and the hum of the heater keeping absolute stillness at bay. The tears you split in the shower followed you to the pillow, running down your cheeks as you try to keep the worst at bay. Wooyoung doesn’t stop tracing shapes between your shoulder blades, the worn cotton of your sleep shirt rubbing against your heated skin. How is the source of your distress the same as the source of your comfort?
Turning to face him, you realize how close he’s moved. Scant inches separate your chests, the heat of his legs licking your own bare ones under the blankets. You spot his own tears, eyes swollen and red, thick lashes clumped together as they fall.
If your love for Wooyoung was an ocean, you’d be lost at sea for years. 
He watches you watch him, hands finding one anothers and tangling together. When Wooyoung opens his mouth, pausing as a sniffle breaks free, you surge up to connect your lips.
Startling for only a second, he eagerly kisses you back. Tears and spit gloss your lips as you dip your tongue into his mouth, licking against his teeth before retreating to bruise his lower lip with your own. Wooyoung manages to roll on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as if you plan to up and leave at any second. You respond by crushing your lips together a fraction harder, attempting to communicate the longing and hurt words can’t convey.
The hem of his shirt finds its way between your fingers, moving further up his stomach with each insistent tug. Wooyoung’s own hands busy themselves, one buried in the hairs at the base of your scalp, cradling your head to move you this way and that as he continues exploring your mouth. The other wrinkles the pillow case beside you, muscles rippling as he holds himself over you. 
When you wiggle your hips, thighs spreading to cradle him between, he dives to your neck. Blood rushes to the surface as he nips and bruises the delicate skin below your jaw, scorching pants raising goosebumps in its wake. He shudders when your nails scratch down his abdomen, thumb dipping under the band of his pajama pants.
It's been nearly eight months without this. Two months before your breakup, in this very bed while the rest of the house was asleep as Wooyoung laughed into your neck while you drunkenly whined for him to touch you.
As familiar as those memories are, this time is entirely new. 
Wooyoung’s thumb, knowing and skilled, brushes across one of your nipples over your shirt, using the rough fabric to his advantage; stiffing it to a tight peak before allowing the weight to settle in his palm. Arching your back, you remove the piece of cloth separating you. Wooyoung barely allows you space to slough it over your head before he’s back on you, latching to the side of your neglected breast as he curls his hips into yours coursley. Your body reacts on nothing but instinct; back arching closer, thighs spreading wider as his knees carry him further down the mattress.
Reverent caresses of his hands lead him to the apex of your thighs, his breath fanning the damp patch of your shorts just before Wooyoung tucks his thumbs into the elastic to nudge them down, breathing deeply as he bares you for his eyes.
A tentative lick up length of your slit pulls a pathetic whimper from the back of your mouth. The flat of his tongue lave against your engorged clit, slow and torturous as Wooyoung indulges in your taste. Rough palms slide beneath the meat of your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. A harsh suck against the bundle of nerves locks your muscles tightly around Wooyoung’s head but he takes it in stride as he drops a hand to slip his fingers inside your clenching hole. Curling the pads of his digits upwards, you feel him in your throat as you bite back moans. Your fingers twist in Wooyoung’s inky hair at the delicious torture, hips rocking into his eager mouth as he pants against you; refusing to separate from your drenched center. 
When his unoccupied hand slips into your own, a death grip on your entertwined fingers, you fall apart. Your chapped lips nearly bleed from effort to remain quiet, writhing in Wooyoung’s hold as he continues to lap up everything you offer him.
A final suck against your clit has you scrambling to pull his mouth to your own, tasting yourself on his soaked cheeks and tongue.
“Please,” you whisper into his mouth.
Wooyoung responds by kissing you gently, the passion curling your toes while he fists his length before allowing the flared head to nudge your entrance.
Finally presses forward, fitting inside you as he always has, another tear burns down to your face. It all comes rushing forward, never ending waves rolling over you after you’ve been knocked down into the surf. Memories, good and bad, race through you at a breakneck speed. The tingling elation of the night Wooyoung asked you to be his girlfriend, the nerves of when you asked him to move in together during medical school. Sadness when you moved away for residency with the promise to come back. The numbing despair you felt the night you thought would be a turning point in your lives. The straw that breaks the camel's back is Wooyoung's admission that you’re too good for him. Choking your own pain down, you try to hone in on a spot on the ceiling in an effort to stay grounded.
Several seconds pass before Wooyoung notices the fresh bout of sobs, mistaking choked whimpers as whines of pleasure after such a long time apart. His nose traces the tendon of your neck as he cants his hips slowly, one hand still tangled in yours, the other pressing your knee up and around his waist to stretch deeper. When the dig of your nails into his shoulder turns from a sting to a cut, he leans back and realizes his mistake.
Eyes find one another through the distorted haze your sorrows create, his rounded with concern still glazed with evidence of his own tears. Staring at one another in a silence broken by sniffling and staccato breaths, a second set of tears mix with your own as he rests his forehead against yours. Locking your arms around Wooyoung’s broad shoulders and hooking your knees around his back, you try to seal him into your skin. 
“I’m sorry.” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I–” he hiccups. “I didn’t–”
What he’s apologizing for is a mystery. Forcing you into this charade? Telling you he was planning to propose? Breaking up with you in the first place? 
Perhaps it's all those things. Maybe it's none of them.
“I love you.” He whimpers into your hair, lips branding the words into your skin.
It’s not enough. But for tonight, you’ll let it be.
“I love you, too.” you whisper back, straining to brush the tip of your nose against his own.
Tomorrow, you’ll fly back to the city and hide in your apartment and pretend to be okay. Dive so far into your work that you forget the way Wooyoung has ripped the healing wound on your heart open again.
Tonight, you’ll pretend the missing piece has finally been found and can stay forever.
Tensing your thighs, your locked ankles nudge at the dip of his spine to remind Wooyoung he’s still inside you. He hesitates for a moment but your lips silence his objections, just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as you are.
The pace is bruising, stomachs firmly pressed together as he reaches for the top of the bed frame to provide more leverage. Wooyoung’s back ripples and flexes as he pounds into you, the vibration of his weak moans tickling the sensitive pads of your fingers as they etch down his ribs.
Consumed by an overwhelming need to touch him everywhere, you cradle his face between your palms. Wooyoung flashes his eyes open, as if startled you’re still there, before leaning into one of them. Thumb tracing his lips, he drops a searing kiss to the crease of your knuckle. The tenderness burns the remaining oxygen out of the room.
His next word is so quiet your ears fail to detect them over the slap of your bodies connecting or the squeak of the old bed frame. But Wooyoung’s said them against your skin enough times over the years for you to know the feel of his mouth forming around the sound.
You come with a muted whimper. So worn from tears, pleasure fizzles in your veins like the gentle ripple of the wind through the trees. Clenching around Wooyoung harshly, the tell tale hitch in his breath signals the beginning of his end. 
But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear, “forever.”
December 26th
Wooyoung
Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.
December 29th
Wooyoung
A tedious drive to the airport grants Wooyoung ample time to stew in discontent, replaying the events of the past week over and over in his head.
Was he insane to think Y/N wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot they’re barely more than strangers after months of silence, how they still fit together so perfectly. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without her. Like the ocean without the moon to guide the tide; like he was missing half his heart. How many times had he opened his messages to text her something mundane from his day, just to close them and realize he’d ruined the best thing in his life in a second of weakness? And now having her next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?
“When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”
“Huh?”
“Wooyoung, I know.”
“How… she told you?”
“Poor thing was crying the entire way to the airport. I told her I wouldn’t let her fly by herself if she was that upset until she explained.”
“What’d she say?”
“That you two broke up a few months ago but you didn’t want to disappoint us.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“You know Y/N, always keeps her cards close to her chest.” His mom looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I made a mistake.”
“If you two weren’t happy then it wasn’t a mistake.”
“But we were happy! She’s the one and I messed it up because I’m not good enough for her.”
“Where is that coming from?”
“I know you and dad wanted me to be an engineer like Myungho, okay? Even Kyungmin wants to be a lawyer! I’m the family disappointment. It only makes sense I’d disappoint Y/N too.”
Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, and using her blinker religiously. Which is why Wooyoung thinks she’s having a seizure when she veers off the road and onto the shoulder like an F1 driver.
“You are not a disappointment! To me or your father or anyone. You are my son, and I have always been proud of that. I’ve seen you teaching, the way those kids look up to you. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to. And if my worrying has made you feel that way then I am so sorry. I’ll we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy sweetie.”
Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”
“Well I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.”
“Yeah well she’s a doctor, saving kids lives and all that.”
“You don’t think you do the same thing? Those kids come to school excited to learn because of you. Just because you’re not finding a cure for cancer doesn’t mean your job isn’t important. And Y/N isn’t disappointed with you either. She loves you, Wooyoung. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?”
“Yeah, well I think it’s too late for that.” Wooyoung mumbles, eyes on the toes of his shoes.
“Maybe you should ask her if she thinks so.”
December 30th
Wooyoung
Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. And each passing hour conveniences him more and more she’s wrong. Especially when San and Yeosang sit with him in their cramped living room, bottles of beer and empty takeout littering the coffee table.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Fuck you.” Wooyoung responds.
San, red faced and tipsy, slaps the leather armrests of the chair before rising.“Fuck you! You broke up with her over nothing and instead of trying to get her back you have a fucking pity party? Grow a pair.”
“She doesn’t want me!”
“Did you ask her?” 
“I don’t have to!”
“You’re an idiot.” Yeosang butts in.
Wooyoung knows his hesitation speaks for itself when Yoesang keeps talking.
“You can ask her to pretend you’re still dating but you can’t tell her you wanna get back together?”
“It’s not that easy!”
“Yes it is!” San argues. “You love her right? You care about her?” San doesn’t continue until Wooyoung nods. “Then she has a right to know.”
“What if she says no?”
“Then she says no. Cross that bridge when you get there. You’re already broken up, how much worse can it get?”
Surprisingly, Wooyoung agrees. He sits forward, looking at his roommates before asking.“So what do I do?”
December 31st
Wooyoung
When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of Y/N’s full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B.
Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.
“Go fuck yourself!”
“Lisa, please!” Wooyoung begs into the phone.
“No! Not once but twice I’ve had Y/N crying on my couch because of your dumbass. I’m not letting it happen again!”
“I need to talk to her. Please just help me!”
“What makes this time so different?”
“I—,” Wooyoung freezes. What does make this time different?
He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”
And the line clicks dead.
Walking back into the kitchen from the worst call of his life, Wooyoung spots San’s downcast face while Yeosang watches him from the table; both clearly overhearing his exchange with Y/N’s best friend.
The vinyl table top shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 
“She’s working at NewYork-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.
“What?”
“Y/N works at NewYork-Presbyterian.”
“How do you know that?”
Shrugging, Yeosang takes another bite and swallows before explaining. “She told me she got a job there when she was planning to move back.” 
Wooyoung has Yeosang’s shirt in his hands in a flash, nose to nose with his lifelong friend. Never in his life has Wooyoung been so furious with the man before him.
“You knew this whole time?” He bites, his eyes so wide with anger the whites show.
San is at Wooyoung's back, winding his arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him off their other roommate.
“You knew all of this and you didn’t fucking tell me? You’re my friend!” Attempting to shake him off, Wooyoung keeps pressing forward. 
Yeosang rises to his feet, hands wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrists and squeezing till the pain forces him to let go. “Yeah, and you’re acting like a real asshole right now!”
“Guys calm down!” San yells, managing to pull Wooyoung back now that he’s no longer attached to Yeosang’s shirt.
“Why didn't you say something?”
“You ended an eight year relationship out of the blue, I wasn’t about to let you get back with her just because you decided being single wasn’t your thing anymore.”
The words slap Wooyoung in the face. Even his own friend’s don’t trust him not to hurt Y/N anymore. “I’m not— I wouldn’t,”
“Come on, Woo. All you could talk about was how excited you were to ask her to marry you and then you come home and tell us you broke up with her. She’s my friend too and I don’t want to see her hurt.”
“So why are you telling me now?”
“Because you were desperate enough to call Lisa. If you fuck up again she’ll actually kill you.”
Wooyoung isn’t going to mess up again, not if he can help it. And if he does, he’ll walk straight into the river before Lisa can force him.
But for now, he focuses on getting Y/N to listen to his apology.
January 1st
Y/N
Chief complaint: Father reports patient’s fever and cough have become more severe since previous visit. Reports child is refusing solids but drinking well and taking soft foods such as apple sauce. Sleeping okay.
One of the residents pops her head into your office, “Dr. Y/L/N you have a delivery at the reception desk.”
“Thank you!” You call, not missing a beat as you continue your notes. 
Impression: Upper respiratory infection, right otitis media
Plan: Amoxicillin prescribed, five day follow up with p.r.n. at PCP.
Finishing your chart, you rise and head out towards the receptionist desk. A familiar bouquet of blush pink tulips greet you, a silk white ribbon knotted around the dip of the crystal vase. A small envelope is tucked into the spread, sending a terrified jolt through your system.
“I wish I had someone send me flowers as pretty as this!” Jessica sighs, eying the arrangement enviously.
“Yeah,” you laugh, unable to muster an ounce of false humor.
You snatch the bouquet before turning back the direction you came. 
Once back into the safety of your office, door shut and blinds drawn, you open the note.
If you don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll let you go. But I can't say enough how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home. I’ll be waiting at our spot on Saturday. As long as it takes.
–W
You don’t realize you’re crying until the ink of the note begins to bleed. 
January 3rd
Wooyoung
Wooyoung is the first customer to enter the cozy coffee shop overlooking the southeast entrance of Tompkins Square Park at nine a.m., claiming the tiny wobbly table off in the corner that provides the perfect view of the door. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It feels wrong to scroll through his phone as he waits so he snags one of the artsy newspapers sitting on the counter while the surly barista prepares his order.
After an hour, adrenalin maintains the pleasant buzz through Wooyoung’s system, fueled further by espresso on an empty stomach. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend.
After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s memorized. The NYT mini crossword archive isn’t as extensive as he thought.
After six hours, he’s had enough coffee to power a jet plane and his leg jitters aggressively. He’s started people watching through the window, making up stories for passersby entering the park and crossing the street. Half his heart hopes they’re happier than he is, the other half hopes he’s not alone in his misery.
When he’s been at the shop for eleven and a half hours, burned through every source of distraction possible and can describe in vivid detail the features outside the glass wall that separate the inside of the cafe from the sidewalk, Wooyoung accepts that she isn’t coming.
He stays till close, every minute that ticks on a drop in the bucket of regret in his heart. The barista starts stacking chairs, passive aggressively swiping the frayed broom in a ring around his table, so Wooyoung does the sensible thing and waits outside. 
The bitter wind wafting through the city finds home in his bones despite his thermals and padded parka. Wooyoung desperately clings to the tiny drop of hope still clinging to his heart. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine Wooyoung watches as the clock hits nine. 
She isn’t coming.
She doesn’t want him back.
Wooyoung watches a couple laugh in each other's embrace across the street, clambering over one another in amused content. There was time that would have been him and Y/N, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked as they trapeze through crowds, ignoring every other soul in favor of focusing on each other.
Eyes stinging, he turns to head for the train station but nearly shouts as spots the woman in question ten paces away.
Her hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring her face as it fogs in the cool air. But she’s here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.
“Hi.” He says, dumbfounded.
“Hi.”
“You came.”
“I did.”
Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. She’s here. She’s here and she’s looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.
“I’m sorry.” He warbles.
“I know.”
But she can’t so he says it again.
“I’m so sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
Because he can’t think of anything else. Nine hours of going over the grand speech about how he missed her and how breaking up with her was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that she’s in front of him and willing to listen.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“No.”
“Then talk to me, Woo.”
The only thing she’s ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells her how he truly feels, she’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 
“I don’t know where to start.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since they opened.”
“Why?”
“Because if you came I didn’t want to miss you.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“Why did you?”
“Because—,” she pauses, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“I had a whole speech prepared.”
“Really?” She smiles apprehensively.
“Yeah, but now that you’re here I don’t remember any of it.”
“Then just tell me the truth, Woo.”
“I’m an idiot.”
Laughing at his outburst, she nods at him. “That’s a start.” 
And the space between them grows a little warmer.
“That night at dinner, when I went to the bathroom, I got an email.” Wooyoung starts, stepping closer. “I’d applied for a grad school program and I thought I was gonna get in but … I didn’t. And I think that and the nerves from proposing just caught up to me. I thought you’d want to stay in Boston after all and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to move back here. And it snowballed and all those feelings of not being good enough came back and— When you didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to argue with me I thought it meant it’s what you wanted too.”
Shame flushes through him, a tsunami of disgust for allowing himself to think so poorly of her. Y/N never made him feel less than. The only person in their relationship who thought he wasn’t good enough for her was him and he let that destroy everything in a second of self doubt. 
“I tried to convince myself I did you a favor. That you’d be better off without me and you’d meet someone better. Find someone good enough for you. But I was wrong. I am wrong. There hasn't been a single day since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I try not to, you’re always in the back of my mind. And then I think about how selfish I am for wanting you back. But when it comes to you I’ve always been a little selfish because I love you. And—” he breaths for the first time. “And I don’t know how to be me without you.”
The humor is gone from Y/N’s face. Her beautiful eyes brim with tears, rimmed red not unlike his own; chin shaking. The wind is louder than ever now, cars wheel sloshing across the wet pavement crashing between them.
“Please say something.”
“How do I trust you again?” Her voice cracks, and it knocks the air from Wooyoung’s lungs.
“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks at the ground, guilt-ridden.
Everything, all of the pain and heartbreak, was his fault. He dug them into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get them out.
Y/N
Seeing Wooyoung, the man with an answer for everything, admit for once he doesn’t have an elaborate plan in motion to win you back is refreshing. You didn’t want Wooyoung who’d fix everything, Wooyoung who’d carry the burden of your relationship by himself even if it killed him. All you wanted was for him to tell you the truth.
And now that he has, you’re done being apart.
Nearly topping to the ground as you tackle Wooyoung in a fierce hug, you focus on inhaling his cologne and basking in the feel of his body pressed firmly against you. He barely manages to steady your combined weight, feet scrambling to regain his balance on the icy sidewalk.
“Don’t you ever do that shit to me again!” You yell, arms squeezing around his waist.
Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, clearly shocked at the turn of events. Rising out of his chest, you look at his gaping mouth and furrowed brows before his arms knot around your shoulders. 
“I missed you.” You whisper into the delicate kiss you land on his lips.
“I love you.” Wooyoung whispers back, forehead resting against your own.
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Four months later
Central Park in May is a bustle of people enjoying warm days following months of slushy snow and gray skies. Shrill screams bounce off the trees as children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the greening grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.
Today is a rare day where they both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither likes to talk about. Wooyoung woke Y/N with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find, basking in the knowledge today he’d finally ask the question hanging from the tip of his tongue since this time last year.
Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures her face from view as Y/N rests her head in his lap. Wooyoung tries not to check his pocket for the millionth time this afternoon, ensuring the little velvet box is still there. He isn’t worried she’ll say no. But the phantom fear from the last time he planned to ask creeps up no matter how many affirmations he silently repeats in his head. But when she looks up at him, crinkled eyes visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding her smile, Wooyoung forgets all his worries.
Plucking the book from her grasp, he carefully marks her place before setting it down beside her hip. Wooyoung folds in half to silence her protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming when she gives in all too easily. 
“I was reading that.” She mumbles as they separate.
“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”
Laughing, she presses another peck to his mouth before answering.“Glad you understand.”
“What about your fiance?”
Y/N smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights.
Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers her up and out of his lap, pulling the jewelry box from his pocket as he kneels on a lone knee.
“Y/N. You’re my favorite person in the world. The only person I can ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. I love when you sing in the shower, and how you put way too much sugar in your coffee. I love how smart you are, and how you’re nice to everyone even if they don’t deserve it,  me included. And how everytime I look at you my palms get sweaty and that just thinking about you makes my day better. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?”
Wooyoung is shaking so violently he fumbles the velvet box twice during his speech. He drops it a third time when Y/N tackles him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from their lips and into the field where they lay. 
“Yes!” She squeals into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”
At dinner with all their friends, he subconsciously holds Y/N’s hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses her knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Once inside the doorway of her apartment, Wooyoung crowds Y/N against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on her ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of her sundress off her shoulder so his tongue etch her collarbone from dip of her throat where the locket he gave her for their first Christmas together rests to under her ear. 
“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” He asks, nipping against the sensitive skin she sighs, chest arching into his own.
“What if I wanna keep my last name?”
“Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” Wooyoung asks, a strong thigh moving between her parted legs.
“Yeah, future Mr.Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Youngie.”
Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at her reaction, rocking again just to hear her moan his name once more. 
“What were you saying?”
“Don’t,” she huffs, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of her cunt through her panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”
“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites, teeth raking against the strained muscle raising from the side of her neck.
“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”
“Feel for yourself.”
“And if I call you my husband?”
Wooyoung doesn’t dignify her question with an answer other than sprinting to the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.
© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
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xpao-bearx · 1 year
Text
"Like A Virgin"
Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader
Read Part 2 HERE
Read Part 3 HERE
Read Part 4 HERE
SUMMARY: Steven Grant has come to the devastating conclusion that he was fated to be single forever. Marc didn't care for romance, Jake was only interested in one-night stands, and Steven was--well...Steven.
But when you started working alongside him at the museum's gift shop--a pretty girl younger than him with a bright smile and a cloying kindness he hasn't been the recipient of in a long time--he begins to think that maybe romance is in the cards for him.
Especially when you are just as awkward as him and sinfully lovely.
AKA "the man without love" falls for "the virgin".
RATING: 18+ minors please do NOT interact!!! This fic will contain romance, smut, and generally mature content (though not ALL parts will have explicit smut).
NOTES: I recently rewatched Moon Knight and have been in the mood to write my own fic after reading countless of amazing ones on here, then outta the blue Madonna's song Like A Virgin got stuck in my head and it got me thinking "Huh... This song is cute for Steven if he gets a girlfriend. ACTUALLY WAIT A DAMN MINUTE IT COULD FIT ALL THE MOON KNIGHT BOYS"
And so... Tada! Here's le result~ Although I'm still working out the details, this fic will have ✨️6 PARTS✨️ This fic will PROBABLY be quite self-indulgent, and at times the way the reader is written could be a bit similar to an OC. I'm so sorry if that is the case, but please understand that I'm writing this for fun and I'm just going with the flow!
Some things will also be different from the show. For example, all the boys are actually aware of each other in this fic. I try to stick as close as possible to the source material, but hey this is my fic and like I said I just wanna have fun 😂
Thank you sooo much and I sincerely hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are STRONGLY encouraged and appreciated so please don't be a silent reader!
Now... Join me as I hopelessly thirst over this RIDICULOUSLY gorgeous man both in fiction AND reality \(^o^)/
Part 1: Didn't know how lost I was until I found you
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Steven willed his legs to go faster, pushing through London's usual busy morning crowd and into the museum he was cursed to work at. Clutching his bag in one hand, and the other holding his small thermos of coffee as he prayed to any Egyptian god listening that Donna wouldn't catch him this time.
But, of course, the only Egyptian god within Steven's vicinity was Khonshu. And the old bird only cared about how his Moon Knight was upholding his duties as his "Fist of Vengeance", not of his Avatar's petty human responsibilities such as "keeping a job".
"Late again, eh, Stevie?" Donna's annoying voice mocked Steven, pausing in his tracks as he sighed deeply and begrudgingly turned towards his boss.
"Sorry, Donna." He shot the blonde a forced smile, his grip on his thermos tightening. "Got stuck in traffic. You know how it is, yeah?"
"I wouldn't because unlike you, Stevie, I'm never late." Donna returned his fake smile along with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway, enough chatter. You've got someone working with you at the gift shop from now on. Maybe this way you won't be late, yeah? Teach her how to actually sell some bloody candy."
Steven opened his mouth to retort, but was quickly cut off when his new co-worker--you--stepped out from behind Donna. You were younger than him, around your twenties, and you were such a shy little thing with your head slightly ducked down. Your E/C eyes peeked out from behind the glasses framing your delicate features, long lashes fluttering as you flashed him a sweet smile. Your fingers fiddled nervously with the pink midi skirt you wore, matching the dainty pink ribbons that tied your H/C hair in two low pigtails.
Your smile faltered as your gaze met Steven's dark brown ones. He remained silent, mouth hanging agape as he stared at you as if you grew two heads. Your eyes lowered, heart threatening to burst right out of your poor chest.
Did you do something wrong? Maybe you should've ditched the ribbons, you looked ridiculous, right? Why was he staring at you? Oh, god, why was such a HOT guy staring at you?!
"Hello, uh, I'm Steven Grant." Your head snapped up, witnessing the twist of Steven's lips into a kind albeit awkward smile that accompanied a friendly little wave. "Steven..." He seemed to be rethinking his words before, ultimately, the dorky side of him won. "...with a V."
A smile once again bloomed across your face, feeling more at ease this time. "Hi, I'm Y/N L/N. With anxiety!" You chirped the latter a little too cheerfully, a light blush dusting your cheeks as you inwardly slapped yourself. No, punched yourself. "O-Oh, uh, I-I didn't mean that! I-I mean, no, it was just a joke--but a really BAD one, oh god--"
As you rambled nonsensically, Donna arched a judgmental brow at you before noticing the utterly smitten expression on Steven's face as he watched you with a huge goofy grin. Now both of Donna's eyebrows were raised to her hairline before she slowly backed away, leaving you two to fend for yourselves.
At least this time, though, Steven wouldn't be late anymore.
'She's so...'
'Weird.' Marc piped up in Steven's head.
'Amusing.' Jake snickered.
'...lovely.' Steven finished, eyes gleaming the same way it does for Egyptology as he continued to look at you as if you hung the moon in the sky.
He adored you instantly.
♡•••🌙•••♡
It's been two months since you started working at the museum's gift shop. During that time, you and Steven got closer. He discovered that you were a college dropout, reaching a stressful breaking point one day and deciding to just work for the meantime before figuring the rest of your life out. And as it turns out, you weren't so shy after all; once you were out your shell, you were just as big of a dork as Steven was and whenever you two were together, your shift passed by quickly--too quickly.
From the very first moment, you and Steven got along splendidly. He was a complete sweetheart and it always shattered your heart whenever Donna harassed him with any snarky and insensitive remarks.
Steven was used to it so he didn't mind it too much. What he wasn't used to, though, was you. You who was always so kind, lending a listening ear whenever he went on a passionate tangent regarding Egypt and even encouraging him on his dream of becoming the museum's tour guide. You who always graced him with a genuine smile that reached your ears, eyes sparkling whenever you see him as if he was your favourite art piece in the entire museum.
You who always made his heart race, palms sweaty, mind swirling without fail.
You had an intense crush on Steven--a longing, really--but what you didn't know was that he felt the same about you. But perhaps it was more than that. He practically worshipped the ground you walked on, and it certainly didn't miss Donna's unexpectedly sharp eyes. She'd tease him whenever you left earlier than him, looking like a kicked little puppy as his gaze trailed after you.
Today was no different as he stared helplessly at you, and it was a wonder you didn't feel the invisible daggers boring into you. There were only ten minutes left before you were done for the day and you both were stuck in inventory, but for once in his life he loved doing inventory and he desperately wished that this incredible moment with you, alone, would last forever.
'You're so fucking pathetic, ese.' Jake echoed in Steven's mind.
Nowadays Jake was becoming more vocal, at least when you're around. Marc, on the other hand, remained tight-lipped. The mercenary would much rather have absolutely nothing to do with you at all costs.
'Shut up, mate.' Steven silently argued, brows furrowing as his eyes finally broke away from you and focused on organizing some Taweret plushies.
'Only saying the truth, ese. You've got her all to yourself and the only thing you can think of is that you wish this time would last forever?' Jake scoffed. 'Be a man and step the fuck up. You know you want to, especially with the way she looks today.'
Steven's burning gaze was right back on you, eyes darkening slightly. He hated to admit it, but Jake was right. You were always so pretty, but something about today made you look that much more.
You always dressed modestly, but with the weather warming up lately you opted for a black pleated skirt that fell just above your knees and a tucked in short sleeved yellow blouse with the top few buttons undone exposing the tiniest bit of your cleavage. You also wore matching yellow heels that perfectly accentuated your legs and it made him feral.
"Steven? Are you okay?"
His eyes met yours and a smile instantly curled up his lips, nodding his head as if he wasn't just ogling you like a total perv. "Yes, I just zoned out. Sorry, love." Ugh, the way he called you 'love' so casually had you swooning.
If only he actually meant it.
You nodded back, shoving your thoughts away and returning his smile before glancing towards a portrait. "A shame what they did to this, huh?"
Steven curiously followed your line of sight, seeing a portrait of the Ennead.
"Whoever did this made a major blunder. Isn't the Ennead supposed to have nine gods, not seven?"
"YES!" You flinched slightly at Steven's exclamation, whipping your head towards him only to see him with the cutest blush ever.
"Erm, s-sorry, uh..." Steven cleared his throat, sheepishly running a hand through his unruly locks. "I just got excited. I'm surprised you knew that. Not a lot of people do--or care."
"Well, I happen to know a fantastic teacher always talking about Egyptology." You giggled, grinning at him. "And thanks to him, he's caused me to become interested in it myself and do my own research."
"Really?!" The way his eyes lit up felt as if an arrow was shot straight to your heart, and if you didn't have any self-control you would've dropped to your knees and asked--begged--this gorgeous man to marry you right then and there. "Any particular god or goddess that you're most interested in?"
"Hmm..." You pursed your lips thoughtfully, and Steven had half a mind to kiss them senseless. "I'd have to say Khonshu."
'GOOD ANSWER. KEEP HER, WORM.' Khonshu's thundering voice suddenly boomed in Steven's head.
"She's not a dog, you stupid pigeon." Steven grumbled, rubbing his temples exasperatedly.
"Hm? Did you say something?"
"Nothing!" Steven answered quickly, forcing out a laugh. "Err, why Khonshu?"
"Well, I really like Astronomy!" You beamed. "And I find the moon to be one of the most beautiful things in our universe, so it feels fitting for my favourite Egyptian god to be Khonshu."
Despite Steven's distaste (to put it nicely) for the old bird, he could never find your response as such. Not when you looked so happy and comfortable sharing your interests with him, even though he did disagree with just one thing you said.
The moon doesn't even come close to being one of the most beautiful things this universe boasts. No, not when you existed.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!
The alarm on your wristwatch cruelly popped the blissful little bubble you both were in, you turning it off as you saw that it was the end of your shift.
A regular person would be over the moon that they were finally free from their corporate prison, but not you. Not when you wished you could spend more time with Steven.
"Well..." Your voice was nothing more than a whisper, a pout forming on your lips. "Guess it's time for me to go home."
"It appears so..." Steven mumbled, his heart sinking to his stomach as he watched you put away the remaining items you were in charge of.
'It's now or never, Steven. Do something.' Jake urged.
'Do WHAT?'
'Fucking Christ, you're hopeless.' Jake sighed frustratedly, Steven's eyes rolling to the back of his head and his shoulders slumping. After a few seconds, he straightened up once more and approached you.
You were faced away from Steven, and you were having difficulty setting the final box of souvenirs you had on a shelf when Steven's hands reached from behind you and easily lifted them.
Your breath hitched, feeling his broad chest pressed against your back. He was so close you could feel his warm breath tickling the nape of your neck, making you gulp.
"T-Thank you, Steven..." You murmured meekly, feeling so small as he had you completely caged. You tried to turn, but his hands suddenly dropped to your hips; keeping you in place with a gentle but firm grip.
"You look so pretty today, Y/N." He leaned down, voice deliciously low as his lips ghosted just beneath your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. "But I think you can look even prettier. How 'bout tomorrow you dress all nice, and we can meet up around seven p.m. and have the best steak in town?"
Your thoughts were all jumbled up. Was this really happening or just another one of your silly fantasies? Where the hell did Steven get this sudden confidence from?
And, perhaps you were just imagining it, but he sounded...different. Not quite like the Steven you knew. He had an accent, but not the one you've gotten so familiar with and loved.
But the ache in your heart--and another part of you--was much too strong to bear. You've waited so long for this, dreamt of this, and it was finally coming true.
You definitely made the right decision to dress the way you did today and you sure as hell weren't going to let go of such a grand opportunity.
"I-I'd love to, but..." You placed your hands on top of his own still on your hips, and you wondered if he can tell just how embarrassingly sweaty your palms have gotten. "I...I know you're a vegan, Steven, so let's go somewhere else. There's a new restaurant that just opened and they've got vegan options. Um, y'know, if it's okay with you..."
The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile and he couldn't stop himself as he nuzzled his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply and revelling in your addicting scent.
"Perfect." He then spun you both around so that his back was against the shelf, but you still couldn't see him. His fingers slowly, teasingly trailed upwards along your stomach before reaching your blouse's breast pocket, slipping off your name tag and putting it in one of your hands. "I'll see you tomorrow, hermosa." He chuckled huskily, giving you a light push.
You were utterly dazed, cheeks flushed and stumbling in your steps slightly as you exited the room.
'What the bloody hell was THAT?!' Steven panicked.
"What do you think, ese?" Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I just scored you a date."
'Well, I hope you're happy! Y/N looked so shocked!'
"I feel like a million dollars and Y/N looked like she liked it." Jake snickered. "Quit whining like a bitch and just be grateful, Steven. And hey, she even chose some hippie vegan place for you. Doesn't that prove she's into you?"
That immediately shushed Steven, and Jake can feel that despite Steven's complaining Steven was very much overjoyed and was already overthinking the date for tomorrow.
Jake looked down his hands, still remembering the soft curve of your hips even through your clothes and smirked.
You won't be wearing any for long now.
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oliviajdjarin · 1 year
Text
Joel Miller: Mint
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)
Excerpt: Your joy was forever gone, your clothes, your warmth against him as he slept, the voice that sucked him in as soon as he saw you in that fucking dive--
Suddenly, his mouth was pressed against something warm, and soft, and minty, and real.
“Joel,” you whispered into his mouth before kissing him again, and again, and again. Your warm, perfect hands framed his face as you did, but he wasn’t strong enough to meet your face with his own. “Come back to me. Come on baby, talk to me.”
You weren’t gone. You were right here, warm-blooded, healthy, and his. 
Warnings: Major death talk, a woman gets torn apart by clickers, Joel has a panic attack, kissing, slight allusion to sex at the end, this is pretty self-indulgent.
A/N: So, Episode 3, am I right?
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Joel Miller had done worse things than drag a screaming man by his pantleg back into Jackson, but he would soon discover he had few things quite as haunting.
The man wiggled in his grip--screaming and digging his nails and mouth into the muddy, icy gravel--as Joel made his way back into the small town.
“Take me back,” the man howled, throat clogged with flem and grief, “take me back to her. I can’t leave her.”
Joel kept on hauling. 
“Joel,” the man was weeping now, sobbing through his beard. “Take me back to my wife. Please, my wife Joel, my wife.”
The man knew what he was doing, using that word. 
That word. 
That word cut through Joel like a hot knife, gliding along the insides of his belly and up his throat. Tha man’s wife was long gone, likely torn to pieces by the infected that had nearly gotten the man in Joel’s own hand, but Joel didn’t let him go. He didn’t let him jump down there with her. 
Why didn’t he? 
The man was silent for a few moments, his sobs the only proof he hadn’t slit his own throat, before his weeps became the sobs of grief that Joel was all too familiar with. The sobs that indicated yes, that did just happen, and I have no idea what the fuck to do from here.
“Please let me go,” the man finally whispered, and Joel dropped his leather-covered foot without hesitation. They had made it to the center of Jackson by that point--meaning a sizeable crowd was beginning to form around them, which Joel absolutely loved--and with one final look back at the defeated and lost man, Joel kept his march forward. 
Forward to you. 
It was barely noon--Joel was always better at the morning watch shifts than you--which meant you had to have been freshly showered and making yourself a late breakfast. Whenever you took shifts at night you always took the liberty to sleep in plenty in the morning, which gave Joel the opportunity to admire the woman who had him wrapped around her finger--literally and metaphorically. He could still taste the mint of your prized chapstick on his lips. You had kissed him particularly hard that morning, hard enough for him to fidget with his matching band more than usual. The weight of it was there when he left you, when the woman fell, and when the man jumped for her. 
Estelle was her name, a beautiful name for a very not-beautiful time, yet a beautiful soul. Her screams pierced the air as soon as she slipped, silenced when she hit the ground, and ignited again as she was torn into. 
Joel being the survivor he was acted on instinct alone when it happened, catching the man from the air as he jumped to join her in her fate, and proceeded to tow the decaying, lamented man back home. 
The fear in Estelle’s eyes before her feet went out from under her, the rawness of her screams, and the acceptance of her final whimpers didn’t become yours in his brain until right then, his steps towards his home. The man’s cries to join her didn’t become his own until he had to close his eyes at the view of you in the window of your wooden home, taking a mammoth-sized book off of the shelves he had crafted for you.
“Joel,” you had said in reaction. “It’s just...it’s just a random Tuesday.”
He made his way over to you, wrapping you in his arms. “I know.”
He entered your shared home, stomping the snow off his boots on the welcome mat to let you know it was him as always, and breathed in the perfect scent that was your fresh-brewed coffee.
When had he started crying?
“Joel,” you said, still facing away from him and towards your shelf, “you’re early. Very early. I’m guessing things either went really well, or really--”
You cut yourself off when you turned to him, likely noticing the single stream of a tear etching its way down his left cheek, and his breath escaped from him at the sight of you. Your form shaped by your favorite pair of jeans, hair laid just how you liked it, and your favorite shirt fresh from the washer. His favorite vision of you, the happy one. The comfortable one. The “I’m-in-love-and-clean-and-fed-in-a-world-where-I-should-be-neither” look. The truest form of his wife.
His wife.
Take me back to my wife. Please, my wife Joel, my wife.
He couldn’t feel his legs.
“Joel,” he heard you say from somewhere far away. Surely that wasn’t you in front of him, guiding him to his feet, leading him to the sofa, squatting to your knees to look into his eyes, breathing into his face that perfect hint of mint. You were torn, fractured, snapped, shredded, devoured at the bottom of that fucking ledge. He was laying in the middle of the square, waiting for his organs to shut down from the cold. Waiting to join you. 
He could see it so clearly--he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough. One more person he failed, one more gaping hole in his chest with no bullet to match. Except this time, you weren’t just another person, you were his everything. Everything. He shouldn’t have let himself fall. He never thought he’d have a wife, and maybe he was never supposed to. 
Your joy was forever gone, your clothes, your warmth against him as he slept, the voice that sucked him in as soon as he saw you in that fucking dive--
Suddenly, his mouth was pressed against something warm, and soft, and minty, and real.
“Joel,” you whispered into his mouth before kissing him again, and again, and again. Your warm, perfect hands framed his face as you did, but he wasn’t strong enough to meet your face with his own. “Come back to me. Come on baby, talk to me.”
You weren’t gone. You were right here, warm-blooded, healthy, and his. 
He exhaled a puff of relief, like reality did its best to punch him in the stomach so hard he couldn’t even respond, before saying, “I would bet on really bad.”
You laughed joyously before wrapping your arms around him so hard the breath he had just gathered escaped him once more, and more tears spilled from his eyes when he tucked his face into your neck. He must have been leaking them the entire time. 
You held him closely, intimately. It was a hug only lovers could mold themselves into. You exhaled in relief before suddenly pulling away and shoving him so hard he fell against the back of the couch.
“Darlin’, what--”
“What the hell was that, Joel Miller,” you yelled. “You come home hours earlier than you’re supposed to, stare at me like I’m a fucking ghost, and collapse! I thought you were having a goddamn stroke or something, Christ.”
“Y/N, I--”
“You better fuckin’ explain,” you state sternly, “and quickly because Jesus Christ.”
He just stared at you, at that passion that always simmered underneath you finally boiling over, before smiling bigger than he had all day. 
You scoffed before squatting down to meet his eyes straight on once more. “Explain. Now.”
He leaned forward, finally tracing the face he knew better than any other with hands rougher than it ever deserved, and spoke. Your eyes softened as he talked, tracing his features as they did, and your soft, lovely fingertips kept his eyes looking into yours the entire time. 
“Once I came in here, I--” he began, clearing his throat as the emotion and panic struggled from the restraint he had planted on them, “--I only saw you falling, and me being dragged here. I realized how imminent that is. I could taste it.”
You swallowed, your own eyes beginning to mist, and brought your forehead to his. 
“I’ve lost people,” he whispered, “so many people, and I’ve gotten back up. If I lose you, I...I won’t be able to. I’m going to go down, and I’m going to stay there. I can’t live in this world without you in it, Y/N.”
You swallowed harshly as tears escaped your own eyes. Your hands remained framing his face, rubbing his jaw and cheekbones with your fingertips, before you pressed your lips to his once more. It was that combination of the warmth and wet of your lips, the taste of your minty breath mixed with the unique taste of you, as well as the breaths from your nose that proved to him yes, you were here, you were real. 
“My Joel,” you whispered against his lips, “you haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”
You bring his right palm to your left breast, right above your heartbeat, where he both heard and felt that familiar tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump.
“I’m right here.”
His misted eyes met your own, full of nothing but complete raw adoration, before you stood and tucked his face into your stomach, letting him fall apart.
He fell apart in your arms, weeping while clutched to your clothing, and once he was done, you covered his mouth with your lips, and put all the pieces of your husband back together.
Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not present/not working. If you’d like to be added or I’ve made a mistake, feel free to ask!)
@leahkenobi @aninnai i​ @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon
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alessia russo fic recs (1/3)
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you are responsible for the content you consume‼️
✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚
🍓。·゚♡゚・。🍒。·゚♡゚・。🍓。·゚♡゚・🍓。·゚♡゚・。🍒。·゚♡゚・🍓
𓂃 ✿ make me yours my love (cause you’re nobody to me, yet somebody to me) alessia russo x reader | fluff (tooth-rotting fluff)
𓂃 ✿ remember that night? alessia russo x reader |
-part 2 to i’ll wait forever 
𓂃 ✿ return alessia russo x reader |
-in which; alessia broke up with you three years ago to focus on her career, breaking your heart completely, eventually you see each other for the first time since your breakup once you join the lionesses for a last minute call-up- and there's a whole lot of unresolved feelings.
𓂃 ✿ the end alessia russo x reader |
-one with alessia russo where the reader suffers a career ending injury
𓂃 ✿ sleepless nights alessia russo x reader |
-when lessi can’t sleep without any kind of physical touch but r gets hot easily & when they’re on holiday r can’t sleep if they cuddle but less can’t sleep when they don’t touch
𓂃 ✿ will you love me 'til the end of time? alessia russo x reader |
-alessia leaves for aresenal, she leaves behind manchester- she leaves behind you.
𓂃 ✿ you belong with me (i belong with you) alessia russo x reader |
-moments of lessi and her girl (you) through the years
𓂃 ✿ meanie alessia russo x reader |
-headcannons about meangirl less as a gf!
𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |
-lessi would be the type to love the fact that she had a wag girlfriend because she could finally designate her waves and kisses to someone in the crowd.
𓂃 ✿ countdown alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ time management alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ co-dependency. alessia russo x reader |
-surprising lessi with multiple cheek kisses at a time
𓂃 ✿ good morning sunshine alessia russo x reader |
-reader being an early bird but less having none of it, whenever she wakes up without reader she goes downstairs asap and just is whiny that she can't get her morning cuddles
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𓂃 ✿ alessia day alessia russo x reader |
-tooth rottingly soft self care days with star girl
𓂃 ✿ i'm tired of lovin' from afar (and never being where you are) alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ 'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody) alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ you don’t have to be sola (you don’t have to be here alone) alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ head over (tar) heels. alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ Falling for me... literally? alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ We're a team. Always. alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ "come to bed" alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ poke alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ twelve alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ alessia x leah x reader blurb alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader
𓂃 ✿ evening alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ in safe hands alessia russo x reader |
-the fans are speculating on the nature of your and alessia’s relationship. when the rumours come to a head, it begins to put pressure on you both. (goalie!reader)
𓂃 ✿ white lies alessia russo x reader |
-five secrets alessia could keep (and one she just couldn’t)
𓂃 ✿ are you flirting with me alessia russo x reader |
-Things that Alessia Russo is good at: football, looking like a goddess, taking your breath away by simply existing.
Things that Alessia Russo is bad at: staying upright, flirting.
𓂃 ✿ price tag alessia russo x reader |
-When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you. 
𓂃 ✿ fangirl alessia russo x reader |
-alessia old tweets reappear of her crushing one the reader
𓂃 ✿ sleepwalking alessia russo x reader | a little angsty
𓂃 ✿ possession obsession alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ thirst tweets alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ cookie clicker alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ love lasts alessia russo x reader |
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-They had won the euros, you watched as some of them cried and others celebrated but all your focus was on her.
𓂃 ✿ silenzio bruna alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ lessi's sunflower alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ drunk in love alessia russo x reader |
-fell in love with drunk lessi and it became a fic
𓂃 ✿ number one fan alessia russo x reader |
-you play football and she comes to all your games.
𓂃 ✿ jumpscare alessia russo x reader |
-Would it be possible for you to do a fic where the reader goes for one with alessia but a really scary one?
They can be going to the escape room as a date or as friends that have been secretly in love with each other?
𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |
-DANCING IN THE KITCHEN WITH LESSI WHILE ITS RAINING OUTSIDE
𓂃 ✿ ‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need) alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff
𓂃 ✿ Alessia fic alessia russo x reader |
-Mapping out your lover's features while they sleep in your arm, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.
𓂃 ✿ teasing alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ butterfly alessia russo x reader |
-Brody Armstrong once said: "When you meet someone for the first time, that’s not the whole book. That’s just the first page" and she’s totally right. When you first met Alessia you didn’t know that quote, you could barely speak let alone read but over the years, when got older, you started to understand it. The day you met her, the first page was written and your story began. Now, Alessia and you have been together for 9 years, 3 of them married and it‘s still not finished.
𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |
-house hunting in saint albans with Less, finding the right house and then r and less just having a moment at the front door where Less just is quiet and looking at the interior r hugs her from behind and Less is a bit homesick and stuff but r invites tooney and joe round without less knowing to make her feel more at home
𓂃 ✿ i know that you love me (even when i lose my head). alessia russo x reader | fluff
𓂃 ✿ the striker and her wingman. alessia russo x reader
-nervous lovestruck lessi >>
𓂃 ✿ the wrangler alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader
-less and Leah and reader thruple blurb. both the blondies are injured but being their stubborn selves refuse to take it easy and non football player reader is like pulling her hair out trying to wrangle these two ADULTS who are being like whiny children and refusing to do what she asks
𓂃 ✿ kiss me through the phone alessia russo x reader |
-a face time with alessia would be like whilst she’s in Australia and the readers at home because of work. Full of fluff and them just happy they get to talk to each other after a hard day, saying how much they miss each other
𓂃 ✿ passenger princess alessia russo x reader |
-Alessia and reader are in a relationship and come into training arguing about something that the team can’t figure out
When asked reader simply replies with “I’m NOT a passenger princess”
𓂃 ✿ 1 - but she loves me, she loves me. alessia russo x reader |
-series masterlist
𓂃 ✿ finalist alessia russo x reader |
-World Cup fluff. Alessia has no idea you're on your way to Australia to surprise her before the final.
𓂃 ✿ 2 - why the hell she love me alessia russo x reader |
-series masterlist
𓂃 ✿ not meant to be alessia russo x reader |
-in which; alessia's girlfriend is always there for her. always.
𓂃 ✿ intruder alessia russo x reader |
-when you wake up to a strange noise you begin to freak out. So you wake up your girlfriend and you both go to speculate. Who’s in your guy’s home?
𓂃 ✿ chance encounters alessia russo x reader |
-you and Alessia meeting in Ibiza and she’s got the hots for you but you play hard to get? but a cute happy ending where they eventually get together
𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |
-After coming home from work/a long trip, finding your lover sobbing on the couch/in bed after a hard day, wiping away their tears with soft touches and gentle words--trying to convince them it's okay, and that you're there for them now.
𓂃 ✿ everyone thinks that they know us (but they know nothing). alessia russo x reader |
𓂃 ✿ toilet paper party alessia russo x reader |
-some tooth rotting gf lessi fluff to try and cure all of our post game depression, with a dash of supportive best friend and arsenal icon lotte wubben-moy ofc
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sebuckyverse · 1 year
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for a good time, call [4]
modern!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader
series summary: Eddie Munson is a burnt out rockstar, touring the country. When he finds a phone number written on a bathroom wall, he strikes an unusual friendship with a coffee shop barista who has no idea who he is.
warnings: 18+ cussing, m!masturbation, dirty talk, flirting, self-doubt, misunderstandings, mutual pining, angst, strangers to friends to lovers word count: 5,2k
an: the penultimate chapter!! i'm sorry for... the ending mwahaha, i love pain y'all know that. anyway i hope you like it as always, pls let me know. don't forget to reblog babes! <3
chapter three ♫ masterlist ♫ askbox
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chapter four ♫♪♩·.¸¸
Eddie's in New York. He loves this city, the one that never sleeps. It's so different from Hawkins. New York is fast paced, bustling crowds full of people rushing to wherever they were going. Eddie feels like he blends in, no one pays attention to him because they don't have the time typically. The past two weeks have been quick, time is flying by with the end of the year in sight. Eddie's been busy too. Besides his usual routine of touring, he's been silently seeking new management. He's had a couple meetings with potential new managers, under the radar of course. They were both successful, he'd say. But there was one woman who he really liked. She was a bit older, in her 40s maybe, but she was smart, experienced and compassionate when Eddie talked about his professional struggles with his current team. She kind of reminded him of his mom, too...
The two shows they have in Madison Square Garden start tomorrow and to be honest, he feels bittersweet about it. This is literally his dream coming true, both shows have been nearly sold out too. While he's extremely grateful to be playing at one of the biggest stages, he feels guilt and shame, it's been gnawing his stomach the moment they arrived in the city last night. He didn't get much sleep over it, either, and he gave up trying when the sun first peeked out from the horizon.
It's only a little after 7am, when he takes a walk through the concrete jungle, walking past the Garden with the Empire State Building looming behind it. He's in comfortable clothes - light blue jeans, ripped at the left knee and right thigh, a simple grey hoodie pulled over his head, with his hair in a low bun underneath and his signature jean vest pulled on top, rocking a pair of white high top sneakers on his feet. And since it was early morning and he wasn't in work mode yet, he had his glasses on. Round shaped with thick, clear rims. From his left pocket, he pulls out his phone and finally dials the number he's been avoiding like the plague.
''Eddie? Is that you, son?'' Wayne's voice shoots out after a couple of rings.
''Yeah, it's me.'' Eddie sighs, thankful he was outside as he could already feel his chest tightening. ''Before you say anything, j-just let me explain, please.''
Wayne doesn't say anything and Eddie takes a deep breath before letting go, ''I've been stupid and selfish. I've let other people control me and my life for so long now, when I should've been the one in charge. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I trusted the wrong people. I pushed you away because you were the only sensible thing I had left and I didn't want you to see the loser I had become. Unbeknownst to them, someone has helped me see the things a bit more clearly. I'm still figuring some stuff out, but I just wanted you to know that I'm really fucking sorry and I miss you.''
He feels like a ton has been lifted off his shoulders. Eddie sniffs and clears his throat. It takes Wayne a minute to process, so he just keeps walking in silence.
''First of all, you're not stupid. You're young and making mistakes is part of growing up. Now I would have appreciated if you had figured things out sooner, but I'm glad you did. I didn't want to push too much, I knew you needed to fight your way out of this yourself. I've been keeping tabs on you, some kids showed me the way around a computer.'' Wayne chuckles and it makes Eddie huff along, too. ''I miss you too, son. You're the furthest thing from a failure, Ed, and I'm very proud of you. You're a brilliant young man, I need you to remember that.''
Eddie swallows thickly, fixing his glasses. ''You're the one I look up to, so whatever I may be - it all came from you.''
''Oh, I don't know about any of that,'' his uncle drawls, ''you were always independent, looked out for yourself. I was just there when you needed me.''
''I always need you. I'm in New York right now, we're playing the Garden... Like I always wanted,'' Eddie says, his voice getting quieter.
''What's the matter then? You don't sound too happy about it.''
''No, I am,'' Eddie defended, ''It's just weird without you here, I guess I always pictured it differently. I was thinking - maybe I could fly you out for a show?''
''I'd like that. Not tomorrow though, I'm working,'' Wayne replied and Eddie smiled to himself, blinking away the (happy) tears that threatened to fall.
''That's fine, the day after tomorrow then? It's two shows.''
''Sounds like a plan.''
''Shit, okay. Let me work out some details and I'll text you later?''
''That's fine, Ed. Listen, I'm thrilled that you called but duty calls. I have used up all of my smoke break minutes for today,'' Wayne joked.
''Yeah, okay.'' Eddie chuckled. ''I'll see you in two days, then.''
''Two days,'' his uncle confirmed.
They said their goodbyes and Eddie hung up, unable to process what just happened. He mentally kicked himself for not doing this sooner, he would have felt a lot better a long time ago. With a lot more prep in his step, Eddie googled the nearest coffee shop. He needed the caffeine for today and his stomach was grumbling, he left the hotel way before breakfast was served. After following the instructions his phone told him, he arrived in front of a corner shop with. He stood in front of it, hesitating. Is this were you worked at? What would he do if you did? He could already see a girl behind the counter - was that you? He had no idea what you looked like. Would he recognize you by just your voice? Only one way to find out.
He pulled the door open and stepped inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread hitting him in a wave.
''Good morning,'' the girl behind the counter cheered. She sounded similar, sure, but he couldn't tell 100%.
''Uh, hi.'' Eddie stepped closer to the counter, pretending to look around.
''What can I get- oh, it's you.'' the girl gasped and Eddie froze. ''You're Eddie, right?'' she whispered.
Oh shit, was this it? Was it you? He didn't feel like it was you. He had a special feeling whenever he talked to you, which you two had been doing almost every day now. He had started feeling shitty about not coming clean about who he was, you had opened up so much already, when he had only given you crumbs. You didn't seem to mind though, or if you did you didn't show it.
''Yeah..'' Eddie blinked, playing with his glasses, his hands shaking a little bit.
''Wow, you're really cool. I saw you and your band live a few weeks ago. You're great!'' she said coolly, a polite smile on her face.
Eddie smile back politely, hiding his disappointment. It wasn't you, obviously. He was stupid to think he'd find you at the very first coffee shop he set his foot in. ''Oh, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it.''
''Yeah, I have to admit I wasn't a fan before, but my girlfriend dragged me along. Anyway, I actually really liked it, so...''
''Hey, that's cool. Anyway,'' he cleared his throat, ''you got any good coffee?''
''Oh, for sure. Here or to go? What kind of coffee would you like?''
Eddie gave his order and she typed away on her screen. Black coffee, medium size, two sugars, to go. His empty stomach also didn't go unnoticed. ''Got any pastry recommendations?''
''Sweet or savoury?'' the girl asked, sliding his cup towards him on the counter, topping it with a lid.
''I'm not sure. Sweet maybe?'' Eddie cocked his head, looking at the display of shiny golden bread in front of him.
''I'd recommend the chocolate croissant or the almond buttercream eclair. The croissant is our most popular one, but the eclair is my friends favorite.''
''I'll go with the eclair then,'' he decided, pulling out his wallet and digging for some cash.
The girl packed his pastry in a box and placed it on the counter next to his coffee. Eddie threw her a twenty, even though his bill was 11 dollars. ''Keep the change. You've been most helpful...''
''Robin,'' she finished.
''Robin, thank you. Hope to see you at another show!''
Eddie walked the long way back to the hotel, sipping his coffee and munching on his eclair. Both of which were incredible, by the way. He figured he'd go back if he had the time. When he got back to his room, he had finished the food and took the last sip of coffee, throwing it in the empty basket under the desk.
.•♫•♬•
You were out of the city, in Brooklyn, near Brighton Beach where your parents lived. You had taken four days off work to come dog sit your parents dog while they went on a 3-night spa getaway. You were walking Dolly, your parents' 4 year old French bulldog, through the all familiar streets of where you grew up. There was a farmers' market in town, so you headed there, Dolly leading the way. You picked up vegetables for a soup you were making later, some herbs and a whole bag of kiwis.
Making your way back to your parents' house, your mind drifted to where it always was these days, Eddie. You'd been speaking for a while now, and there was an itch at the back of your mind. You were holding back the urge to google him. It was natural, you though, you could then easily put a face to the voice you had been speaking with. Any normal person would hop straight on the internet when they find out they're talking to a celebrity, right?
You didn't want to be that girl, but you did wonder what kind of relationship you had with him. It's been what, like a month, you went from complete strangers to friends, to him coaxing you to an orgasm over the phone, to... what? You couldn't call him just a friend anymore, it felt more than that. Friends don't have phone sex, either. You had feelings for him, romantic ones. They were simmering, like hot soup under a lid. You didn't want to bring it up first too, asking the age old question - what are we? That would scare him off for sure.
You got back to the house just before it started drizzling rain. You removed your coat, hat and gloves then cleaned Dolly up and let her roam the house. You grabbed your purchases and made your way to the kitchen, where your phone was charging on the island. You saw that you had a message from Robin, multiple messages actually. You grabbed the device and unlocked it, swiping through her messages.
11.52am - Robin ''OMG you have no idea who I met this morning!''
11.52am - Robin ''I would call you but we're so busy today, I'm literally peeing right now so I could text you.''
11.52am - Robin ''EDDIE MUNSON was here, I can't believe it. I texted Cherry too, she's been here since 8am. Said she's gonna be here all day in the off chance he comes back. She wants a pic.''
11.52am - Robin ''Anyway, he's from that band we saw about a month ago. Really sexy up close!!''
You blinked, staring at the screen. You were only focused on two words, a name really. Eddie Munson... From a band. A musician, then. Your heart thumped in your chest. Was it him? You didn't really believe in silly coincidences. Finally breaking, you quickly pulled up the search bar and googled the name. A ton of pictures, videos, news articles popped up. You only intended on looking at pictures, you didn't mean to look at the news articles. But once you started, you fell down the rabbit hole, unable to get out.
Corroded Coffin star Eddie Munson seen leaving restaurant with Victoria's Secret model.
'Eddie Munson snorted coke off my ass' ex-girlfriend Madeline claims!
Corroded Coffin frontman leaving band? Manager denies claim!
You read through multiple articles, all accompanied with pictures of him. A woman next to him in every photo, tall, skinny, perfect skin. You didn't concentrate too much on the women, otherwise you'd only hurt your own feelings. You looked at him, marveling at different angles taken of him on stage, his long wild hair flipping in the air.
''Oh shit,'' you gasped as you remembered a few weeks ago, when he first called you. You had walked by a poster of him without even knowing who it was. But looking at the pictures on your phone, you knew it was your Eddie. You felt it in your bones.
You went to Youtube and searched his name there too. You noticed a late night interview he had done, uploaded just last week. You clicked on it and watched the whole thing. You felt strange watching him like this. He wasn't just some faceless fantasy you had developed feelings for, he was real. He talked animatedly with the host, talking about their tour.
''Yeah, we're super excited. Very grateful to be playing Madison Square Garden next week, two shows. It's wild.''
Madison Square Garden? New York? Next week - this week, then? This was the first time you were hearing about any of this. It was already the middle of the week. You went to Instagram, searched up Corroded Coffins account (surprisingly, you didn't find Eddie's personal account) and clicked on it. There was a new picture uploaded, just an hour ago. Eddie was standing in front of the arena's entrance, his back facing the camera. And there he was, in your city, without telling you.
You took a deep breath. It's fine, it's only the afternoon. He's probably busy. You followed the account and looked through their stories. There was a reposted story of someone else's, it was a picture of a girl holding two tickets. What caught you off guard, however, was the caption of the photo.
''Thanks for the VIP tickets Eddie! Can't wait to see you tonight!!''
Then you noticed the girl's username and it seemed familiar. It clicked to you that it was the same Madeline you read about earlier, his ex then.
Your stomach dropped. He hasn't mentioned anything to you about being in New York, but invites his ex to go see him, probably backstage too. God knows if they were even broken up, you certainly wouldn't know. You felt betrayed, stupid for not being cautious enough. You believed every word he had said, never having a reason to doubt he might be lying about anything. Were you just some distraction for him? Was he just pulling you along because he was bored? Maybe this is why he was hesitant to reveal who he was, maybe he was scared you would find out who he was and catch on to him.
Just as you felt tears of frustration pool in your eyes, he texted you, almost like he could sense something was wrong.
13.01pm - Eddie ''Hey Kiwi girl, how are you? Miss you!''
Frustrated that he could still make your stomach turn upside down, you called Robin instead.
''Hey babe, called at just the right time, I just went on lunch. It's a madhouse today. Did you see what I texted you by the way?'' Robin rambled on the other side.
''Yeah.. I know him.''
''What? No, you don't. You don't listen to that kind of music.''
''Rob, I know him. He's the guy I've been texting,'' you admitted.
''What?!'' she shrieked. ''When? How?''
You sighed, dropping onto the living room couch, bringing your legs underneath you. ''I just found out myself. He told me his name was Eddie and that he was a musician but that's all I knew. I just put the pieces together when you texted.''
''That's insane!'' Robin replied, her words muffled as she was crunching on something. ''Are you going to meet him, then? Are they playing a show?''
''Yeah, tomorrow. He didn't even tell me he was coming, though...''
''Really? That's strange. I thought you said you liked him.''
''Yeah, I do! I don't think he feels the same,'' you swallowed the lump in your throat. ''I found out he sent his ex some tickets though.''
''No fucking way,'' your best friend noted.
''Way.''
''Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding,'' she offered tenderly.
''Pff, or maybe it was too good to be true. Maybe I was an idiot, like always.''
''Hey! You are not an idiot. If everything you said is true then he is a scumbag and I'm on your side, always. I can let Cherry know, too. She'll probably pepper spray him the next time she sees him.''
''I don't condone that, but thanks,'' you chuckled, picking at the woolly fabric of the armrest.
''What if you just asked him about it?''
''I don't know,'' you dragged out the words, letting Dolly hop on the couch and snuggle up to you. ''What makes you think he'd tell the truth?''
''Would he have a reason to lie?'' she asked.
''No? I'm not sure.''
''See - that's why you have to find out! You don't even know what's going on but you're already jumping to conclusions. That's not fair to him either.''
''Why do you always have to make so much sense?'' you sighed, feeling guilty that you had assumed things too quickly. Maybe she was right, Eddie had mentioned things being written about him in the tabloids. Most of the times, the media grasps onto any straw they can, whether it be true or false. You couldn't allow yourself to fall into that trap. ''So I just tell him I figured out who he is?''
''Might as well. How long can you guys keep this anonymity up, anyway.''
''That's true,'' you quipped, deep in thought. ''What did he order today, by the way?''
.•♫•♬•
Eddie was nervous. He sent you that text five hours ago and you had yet to reply. You hadn't even opened it. It's unusual for you to not reply for this long, Eddie was starting to get worried. Had something happened to you? He's been trying to buy plane tickets for Wayne for about an hour now, without luck as he keeps getting distracted. He decided to take a break when he typed in his email address incorrectly, three times. He had a list of things he was supposed to get done today, but so far he had managed to do nothing. He needed to pick out an outfit for tomorrow's show, he had to ask someone to get him a new pair of contacts because he lost his, get tickets for Wayne obviously.
Just as he was about to send you another text, you called him. He picked up instantly.
''Y/N, hey. I was getting worried.''
''Sorry, I was... I was actually ignoring you.''
Confused, Eddie sat up straighter. ''Why? Did I do something wrong, did I say something to upset you?''
''No, it's actually what you didn't do,'' you sing-songed in response. ''Enjoy that eclair today, Eddie?''
Time stilled, the Earth ceased rotating, Eddie stopped breathing. ''H-how do you know about that?''
''My best friend Robin told me,'' you said matter-of-factly. Eddie almost dropped his phone. This wasn't happening. Robin? Rob!? He couldn't believe he didn't put two and two together this morning, even as it was staring at him right in the face. He was there, where you worked. He talked to your best friend. Eddie felt like he was in that movie The Lakehouse, where the two characters were at the same place, but at a different time.
''You didn't tell me you were playing at the Garden tomorrow,'' you teased him but he could also hear the note of sadness.
''I'm sorry,'' he blurted out, ''I meant to tell you, I swear! It's just... You're so good and I didn't think you would be interested in me, apart from this,'' he gestured to the phone as if somehow you could see it, but you still seemed to catch on.
''Oh, Eddie. That's not true. Look, I can't lie to you. I did google you after Robin called me and said that the famous Eddie Munson came by.''
Not gonna lie, his full name sounded heavenly coming from you. He was relieved, mostly, that now you knew everything. He didn't have to hold back anymore.
''And I saw some things, for sure. Did you really snort cocaine off of someone's ass?''
''Oh my fucking God,'' he groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. ''That is the worst rumor I've ever heard about myself. I definitely didn't, you can trust me on that.''
''Okay,'' you giggled and Eddie felt lighter already. ''But, um, would you like to meet, then? It's okay if you don't, there's-''
''Yes.''
''Oh, okay, good,'' now you were the one who sounded nervous, breathing uneven into the microphone.
''Can you come to the show tomorrow? I'd see you right fucking now if I could, but today won't work out for me. I can put your name on a list, you just say it at the door and they'll let you in.''
''Yeah, I can do that.''
He smiled, biting his bottom lip. ''Can't wait, sweetheart.''
''If you think you're off the hook that easy, Eddie Munson, think again.''
Wiped that smile right off his face.
''What are you doing right now?'' you asked.
''Uh, nothing, just at my hotel room.''
''Good, can you lay down on the bed for me, pretty boy?''
Shit.
Eddie followed your command and laid down, resting his head against the soft pillows, his legs splayed wide on the bed.
''Now I want you to take out your cock and stroke it 'til it's hard,'' you instructed, voice smooth as honey. ''I saw pictures of you, you're real pretty, Eds.''
Eddie whimpered at the compliment, his cheeks flushing. He switched his phone so he could push his sweatpants down, just enough so he could free his already half hard member. Spitting in his hand, he wrapped his fist around himself, pulling on it slowly, smearing his spit all over the head.
''Such a good boy, I can already hear it. Does that feel good?''
''Y-yeah,'' Eddie's hips bucked as he ran his fist up and down, gripping tightly at the base and then running back up again, brushing his thumb over the slit, pre-cum dripping.
''Keep going, tell me how good it feels.''
''So good,'' his chest heaving, bolts of pleasure shooting up his veins, he continued to pump himself. ''Wish it was your hand instead, o-or your mouth or pussy, fuck.''
''What about my ass, Eddie? Would you fuck my asshole too if I asked?''
''Jesusss...''
''Tell me when you're close,'' you moaned out, just to stir him on.
''I'm about two seconds away from busting.''
''Stop!'' you barked.
''What? What happened?''
''Oh, you don't get to cum. Take that as your punishment,'' your evil laugh ranged through the phone.
''Fuck, you're mean,'' he groaned, fisting the sheets below him to stop himself from going back to his cock. ''I hope this isn't too forward, but I'm going to fuck the shit out of you tomorrow.''
.•♫•♬•
The day is here, finally you would meet Eddie. This whole thing has been fast, you admit, it's only been a month or so. Somehow that didn't scare you, like you thought it might. You were buzzing with excitement, even a little nauseous. You were a little anxious as well, it always made your tummy sensitive, so you had a small breakfast that morning.
Robin had agreed to come watch Dolly while you were away, probably dragging Cherry along, too. The day seemed to drag on and on. Robin promised to be there an hour before you had to leave to hype you up - that's what she said.
You didn't sleep last night, thinking how tonight will go. You weren't so much nervous to meet him, you already know what he looks like, who he is. What tugged at the back of your mind was, what would he think of you. You didn't look anything like the girls he had been pictured with. You didn't think you were ugly either, you were just... you. Would you be enough?
When you decide it was time to get ready, you showered and shaved every inch of your body, Eddie's promise last night very fresh in your mind, still. Since you didn't expect to go to a rock concert tonight, your outfit would have to do with whatever you packed. You were torn between a skirt or pants. Figuring the atmosphere would most likely be.. heavy, you went with the safe option of your black jeans. You matched them with a graphic tee, paired with shiny black Dr. Martens boots. Make up simple, as again, you didn't prepare for this and didn't have time to make a stop at home - mascara, some powder, a nude gloss.
Robin knocked on the front door just as you were screwed the cap back on your lipgloss. You let her in, Cherry following behind just as you thought. ''You look bomb, but just so you know, I would much rather be at the show than babysit some smushed face baby seal.''
As if Cherry had blown a dog whistle, Dolly appeared from the living room and trotted right up to her. ''Oh, hiii.''
You rolled your eyes in amusement. ''Your girlfriend is weird.''
Robin pulled you into a hug. ''She's just upset she can't go to the show. But I told her we're helping with the love story of the century and she caved. Cherry loves love.''
''Don't be dramatic,'' you huffed.
You walked Robin through the basics about Donna, what and how much to feed her, when she wants to go outside. Cherry was meanwhile busy rubbing baby seal's belly.
You slipped on your jacket and said your goodbyes, Robin wishing you good luck and hopped in your car. The drive back only took about 20 minutes, but it was enough time to fill your body with nerves. It took a few minutes to find a parking space, but you were lucky as you found one pretty close to the building. People were already lined up, but it looked like the line was moving at a normal pace, the doors were already open. You followed in line with others, seeing the entrance up ahead, Corroded Coffin's name on the billboard above it in big bold letters. You got to the front considerably quickly, the security guard asking for your ticket.
''Um, I'm supposed to be on the list, I think.'' You told him your name and the guy scanned his tablet, then nodded and let you through after taking a quick glance at your crossbody purse.
The floor was open plan, seating only on the upper floors. You made your way somewhere to the left hand side, as the first floor was already full of people. It was a bit far, but you could still see the stage. The microphones were already lined up, drum set at the back of the stage. It was 5 minutes until the opening act, when you got a text.
21.55pm - Eddie ''Are you here?''
21.56pm - Y/N ''Yes.''
21.56pm - Eddie ''What are you wearing? ;)''
21.56pm - Y/N ''Idiot.''
After a couple minutes, the lights went out and the opening act took to the stage, to a lukewarm reception. The band was alright, you guessed, you had never heard of them obviously. You bobbed your head to some of the songs, even took a few pictures. The set went by quick and now you only had to wait 30 more minutes for the main act, to the one you were here for.
By the time it was time for the main event, more people had filled the arena and now you were pretty squished, girls and guys on every side of you. You squeezed past some people, looking for more room at the back. You found a big enough space and settled there. The lights went out again and this time, the crowd roared. Music started playing and the drummer came out first, followed by three other guys a minute later. There he was, in all of his glory, guitar strapped over his shoulder. He smirked at the crowd and hit the first note on his guitar, followed by the high pitch eruption of women in the audience.
The show started, and though this music was not your prefered genre, you were absolutely mesmerized. Eddie's stage presence was magnetic, he owned the the entire arena. All eyes were on him as he strummed different notes and flipped his hair around, screaming, singing and even moaning into the microphone. People yelled, jumped, pushed around. Not to mention the mosh pit in the middle of the floor.
As Eddie sang the songs, his eyes kept looking around. Was he looking for you? You wanted to scoot closer, but it was impossible. The crowd was wild even at the back, you couldn't even imagine what was happening at the barricade.
They played for more than an hour. As the show came to a close, you clapped and cheered just like everybody else. He was amazing, the band was amazing. They all bowed, the bassist threw his picks at the girls in front of him. Eddie thanked the audience, his voice tired and raspy and so sexy. ''Hey Kiwi girl, come find me.''
You blushed, though nobody knew he was talking about you. You waited a while, watching the crowd slowly pushing out, before you had any room to made to the front. You made it to the barricade and and called another security guard over.
''Hi, I think I'm supposed to go backstage.'' You told him your name and that you had an invite from Eddie himself. He took a sceptic look at you and spoke something into his walkie talkie before ushering you closer and helping you over the railing.
He asked you to follow him and lead the way from the stage through a door, into a long corridor. Your ears were ringing from the loud music and your heart was doing flips. ''It's the last door to the left.''
You thanked the guard and he left. You took a deep breath and walked to the door, raising your hand to know, but the door flew open before you had the chance.
''Oh, sorry. Are you looking for someone?'' a guy, who you recognized as the drummer, asked. His face was all sweaty and he was holding a towel in his hand. There was commotion coming from the room and you looked over his shoulder, your breath hitching as you saw Eddie sitting on a sofa.
But he wasn't alone, far from it. Sitting next to him was the same girl, Madeline, her arms on his shoulders. Kissing him.
.•♫•♬•
tags: @hellfirewhore @ceriseheaven @feralgoblinbabe @ethereal27cereal @mystars123 @munsonsuccubus @alizztor @tlclick73 @nojamsonmytoast @b-irock @harringtonshairychest @hellkaisersangel @mcueveryday @other-world-s @santheweird @nightless @hiscrimsonangel @ali-r3n @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @tayhar811 @sarawithasword @eddiesluvt @maddieluvseddie @hellfires-harlot @dollalicia @donnavivienne @ashlynnkennedy @dumbblonde1630 @sanzu-holic @dontslayfay @eddieswife16 @bebe0701 @ganjababie @sidthedollface2 @brittanyyydamnit @lezzy-bennet @bibliophilewednesday @qcueef @rogers-sweatbands @christalcake @episcogoth @beep-beep-sherlock @milkymil-k
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daisynik7 · 1 year
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Dirty Thirty
Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader
Rating: Explicit
cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)
Word Count: ~5.6k
Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday. 
Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.
Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!
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The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying. 
Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth. 
Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?
You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”
Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours. 
You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”
It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment. 
“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”
“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”
Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”
Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”
They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.
“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children. 
Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade. 
You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you. 
“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor. 
“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol. 
“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.
“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”
“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him. 
He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”
You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”
He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”
“How old do you think I am?” 
Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”
This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.
“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass. 
“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”
Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.” 
He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting. 
“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?” 
“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?
There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”
~~~
Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger. 
The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all. 
His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks. 
He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.
At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons. 
Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”
Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command. 
Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.
His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.
Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg. 
“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments. 
“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him. 
His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”
You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”
This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him. 
He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.
“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth. 
“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”
He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.  
“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”
You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”
“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst. 
“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering. 
“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.
It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”
You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”
Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight. 
He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock. 
“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”
You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”
He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”
Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment. 
There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.
You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”
Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can. 
“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”
Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger. 
Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.
“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement. 
“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.
“I’m close, I’m close!”
Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”
The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips. 
“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient. 
Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 
If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word. 
He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper. 
“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. 
“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”
You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”
Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath. 
“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”
Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.
He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.
“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.
“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.” 
He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”
You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.  
“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.
“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence. 
“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.
“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too. 
“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.
Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal. 
He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession. 
You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.
He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”
You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”
“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead. 
Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?” 
“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke. 
He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”
“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.” 
There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.
~~~
In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen. 
You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.  
When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.
You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave. 
Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.” 
Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”
“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking. 
“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him. 
“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants. 
“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food. 
He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt. 
You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment. 
“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”
“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”
“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.” 
With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud. 
“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.
“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”
Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him. 
You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?” 
In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.
Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again. 
It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.
The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already. 
He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.
Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”
Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”
You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself. 
The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”
He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”
“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?
You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.
It’s better this way. 
644 notes · View notes
harley-sunday · 1 year
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Champagne Supernova
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Summary: You literally stumble into Charles Leclerc one evening and somehow end up with custody over his tuxedo jacket? Weird. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.7k AN: Sometimes an idea just *mimics explosion with hand* pops up all of a sudden and won't go away until you write it down (I mean, I was literally in bed already but…). So here we are  Also, written on mobile (eL, don't @ me) so apologies in advance for shitty formatting and for not editing. Also², I live for validation so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! That is, if you like it, of course :)
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It’s warm inside the ballroom of the hotel you’re in and so you’re trying to fan yourself with a copy of tonight’s program because now that the formal part of the evening is over it really doesn’t serve any use anymore other than to help you cool down. You’re standing in the corner of the room, close to the bar, observing the crowd - Monaco’s elite; a strange mix of old money and self made millionaires that have come together for tonight’s fundraiser.
You don’t belong to either of those groups but instead are here because the PR agency you work for somehow got selected to promote the event. It meant a lot of overtime in the past two months for the entire team and so your bosses - Olivier and Claire, a happily married couple with two kids, a dog, and a perfect work-life balance (of course) - promised you and your colleagues a seat at one of the tables and thus an open bar for the evening very early on in the process to make up for all the early mornings and late nights. 
Dinner was a drawn out affair with seven small courses, entirely too much red wine, and a slightly boring silent auction reveal that took way too long for your liking. The promise of an after-party kept you from leaving early but it’s Monaco, it’s rich people, and so you could and should have known that their idea of an after-party is more champagne, bragging about who paid what despite it being a silent auction, and a guy with a comb-over and an ill-fitting tuxedo playing the piano, dragging out “Les Lacs du Connemara” way beyond the six minutes the song usually takes.
Next to you, Olivier and Claire are having a small domestic because Claire, slightly intoxicated, wants to stay but Olivier, scarily sober, has promised the babysitter they’d be back before one. Your other two colleagues are trying to persuade (read: threaten) the piano guy into playing “Sweet Caroline”, and you are feeling more miserable by the minute - one of your shoulder straps keeps sliding down, there’s a headache coming on, and your feet hurt like crazy in the stilettos you had no time to break in, so to say you are over it and ready to go home would be an understatement.
You wait for a lul in Olivier and Claire’s argument before you turn to them and tell them, “I’m heading out, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Olivier nods but Claire starts to protest and grabs your wrist, “Babe. Stay.”
You shake your head and try to free your hand but Claire doesn’t let go. Looking at Olivier for help you tug again but her fingers remain deadlocked around your wrist and you know it’s because she’s drunk and wants someone in her corner when Olivier decides to stand his ground and make her go home in about five minutes or so, but it is annoying as fuck and so you pull a little harder and start to walk away. “Claire,” you warn her, “let go.”
She still doesn’t.
Until all of a sudden she does and it makes you stumble forward and bump into someone and then everything seems to happen at once - you flail your arms trying not to topple over, reaching out for something- Anything you can hold onto. It’s the arm of the guy you bumped into but as you steady yourself against him he loses control of the drink he’s holding, a quiet, “Oh, merde,” your only warning before-
“Holy shit, that’s cold!” You jump backwards in shock, fingers plucking at the fabric of your dress as you try to stop the liquid from dripping down in between your boobs while quietly cursing your best friend who made you wear this stupid dress with its stupid plunging neckline in the first place. The fabric is already clinging to your skin, your chest and stomach absolutely soaked and you look around for an easy exit, first to the toilets maybe, to save yourself from the horrified looks around you and any further embarrassment but then you see a stack of white napkins appear in your field of vision and before you know it you are being pat down by the man who’s drink you’re now wearing.
“I am so sorry,” he mumbles while trying to dry your dress but the napkins are white and your dress is black and so all it does is leave a trace of little pieces of fluff all over your stomach but before you have a chance to say anything he’s grabbed a new stack of napkins and goes for your chest-
“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” You shake your head and take the napkins from him, gently pushing his hands back with a smile, “I got this.”
“Shit, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair and is blushing like crazy, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” you tell him as you’re blotting yourself now. “I mean, I’m the one who bumped into you, right?” The napkins really aren’t helping and so you give up with a frustrated sigh, looking up for the first time then, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” when you see the man standing in front of you. Jesus Christ, he’s hot. And apparently still upset because he stares at you with his beautiful green eyes as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Even though you’re the one who could enter, and maybe even win, a wet t-shirt contest this very second which you think is ten times more embarrassing. 
“Let me at least do something to help,” he tries, reaching out his hands to you again but then thinking better of it. “Really. Anything. I mean, I will pay for the dress of course, but-”
He seems so flustered that you can’t help yourself, “Well, considering you almost went to second base just now-” you say with a wide smile and a pointed look between his hands and your chest, “-it would be nice to at least know your name.”
This makes him chuckle and earns you a smile in return, “I’m Charles.”
“Nice to meet you, Charles,” you say, meaning every word of it, and then introduce yourself. When you lick your lips you taste the champagne he spilled on you and can’t help but laugh, “What a waste of that Veuve Clicquot, though, huh?”
“I’m more worried about your dress, to be honest,” he counters with a grin.
“What? This old thing?” You motion for him to come forward and when he does you put your mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Between you and me, I think the champagne was more expensive.”
He chuckles again when you pull back and you can’t help but fall for him a little, the way he scrunches his nose something so- Adorable? Hot? You’re not sure. Either way, you want to see more of it, you decide. Charles still looks as if he’s ready to go into purgatory and so somehow you’re not really surprised when he tries again, “I mean it though. Anything I can do to make up for this.”
You look around then and even though most of the crowd has gone back to their smalltalk there are still some curious onlookers that seem way too invested in this, making you feel very exposed all of a sudden, and so, well, if he insists… “Maybe you could lend me your jacket for a hot sec and escort me out of here?”
“Of course,” he replies, already taking his tuxedo jacket off. He hesitates for a second but then drapes it over your shoulders anyway, “There.”
Instead of a ‘thank you’, a distracted, “Uhu,” comes out because it’s only now, when you see the way the white dress shirt is stretched across his arms and chest, that you see how muscular he is. He’s- Not broad but definitely athletic and you wonder what kind of sport he’s into. Before you have a chance to ask though he’s absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and you can feel your mouth go a little dry at the sight of his tanned, veiny forearms and hands. A fleeting thought of just how much you could make him apologize with those long fingers gets quickly pushed back when he holds out his arm for you to loop yours through.
“Come on,” he says and nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” He guides you through the room with ease and doesn’t stop when you reach the foyer, instead making you follow him outside where he nods at the valet.
“I didn’t drive here,” you start, because somehow you figured it’s your car he wants them to get.
“I know. Well-” he chuckles then, “-I don’t actually, but I’m making him get my car so I can drive you home. Or your hotel. I mean, I don’t want to assume-”
“Home,” you quickly reassure him. This time you remember your words and your manners, “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He leads you down the front steps when the valet pulls up with his car, a black Ferrari Pista Spider that you can’t help but silently admire, and doesn’t let go of you until you’ve reached the car and he’s opened the door for you.
You try to keep the wet part of your dress from touching anything inside the car as best as you can, offering a quiet, “Sorry,” when Charles slides into his seat.
He tuts, “Don’t worry about the car, ma chérie." 
And, oh- That’s- Nice. And a complete one eighty from how flustered he was mere minutes ago. Huh. Interesting.
If he does notice you clearing your throat to distract yourself, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Instead he starts the car, the engine absolutely purring to life, and turns to you with a grin, "Where am I taking you?”
Right here and right now please, you almost say, but you don’t think that’s what he meant and so instead you tell him, “Take a left at the stoplights and then a right at the next.”
As you guide him through the streets of Monaco you find out he’s an F1 driver with Ferrari who was actually born and raised in Monaco. He tells you how he’s on a three-week summer break until the end of August when the second half of the season starts with a race in Belgium. In return you tell him how you moved here three years ago when, after college, you got offered a job by Claire and Olivier.
All too soon, because sometimes Monaco really is nothing more than just a small town on the French Riviera, he pulls up in front of your house with an almost apologetic smile, “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” you echo with a nod. It’s silent for a moment before you decide to just put yourself out there, something about doing it now or forever wishing you had, “Would you like to come in? I could get changed and give you your jacket back? You might want to wash it though, I think there’s some wine- It probably needs to go to the dry cleaner’s, right? I don’t think it can go in the washing machine-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you close your eyes for a second and try again, “What I meant was: Would you like to come in for a drink?”
“I would love to but- I can’t,” he says and there’s something about him that makes you believe he’s telling the truth and that he’s sorry about it. “I have some auctioned pieces I still need to sign and I have to take a photo with the highest bidder in-” he looks at his watch and lets out a humorless laugh, “-ten minutes.”
“That sucks,” you tell him because apparently you’re now just speaking your mind without being eloquent about it.
He nods slowly, “It kind of does.”
Oh. Ok.
“Take the jacket,” he says then, “I can come pick it up later.”
Wait. What?
“Later tonight, or?”
He shakes his head, “No. Later as in, next week or something.”
“Oh, ok, yeah, that’s- Yeah, makes sense.” No need to stumble over your words, you think, you took your chances and it didn’t work out. It’s fine. It’s just that the 'or something’ kind of hurts.
He must see the disappointment on your face because he quickly adds, “I mean, so I can see you again. Later. When I’m not in a rush and you’re not covered in champagne.”
You can’t help but laugh, your mind once again too quick for your own good, “Who says I won’t be?” You let the words hang in the air with a raised eyebrow and it takes a few heartbeats but then Charles laughs as well, a burst of laughter that you want to hear again and again. You grin at him, “What?”
“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head. He reaches for his phone then, unlocks it, and hands it to you, “If you add your number I could maybe call or text you?” There’s a shy smile playing on his lips then, “About the jacket, I mean.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”
“No, that’s ok. My brothers are at the party as well. I can just take one of theirs.”
“Sure?” You try one last time.
“Sure.”
“Ok.” Your fingers fly over his screen then, adding yourself to his contacts before you hand him the phone back. Locked. A wicked grin on your lips, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”
“Oh, I will.”
“Good.” You lean over the center console then and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be seeing you then.”
“You will,” he says with a bad attempt at a wink, which so far seems his only flaw.
“Thank you for driving me home,” you say as you climb out of the car while trying not to flash anyone even though there’s no one around. A kind smile then as you close the door, “Drive safe.”
“Always.” He gives you a quick wave and then he’s off, the rumble of the engine echoing through the almost empty streets of the city.
***
He doesn’t call. Or text. And so his jacket moves from your living room, where it was draped over a chair for the first three weeks, to the guest bedroom slash your home office, this time draped over your office chair. Every now and then you catch a hint of his cologne  and so you still aren’t able to really forget about him.
At the beginning of November you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably won’t see him again, that you probably made a bigger deal out of it than it was, that he probably doesn’t even remember you - your name just another girl added to his contacts because he was simply trying to be nice - and so at some point you move the jacket to inside the closet in the guest bedroom, telling yourself that the only reason you won’t throw it away is because it’s Armani and expensive as fuck. 
You’d like to say you’ve forgotten about both the jacket and Charles once December rolls around but that would be a lie. You’ve actually started to follow the remainder of the F1 season and saw him come second in the World Driver Championship. A warm feeling settling somewhere inside your chest whenever you see him getting doused in champagne by his teammates or rivals, taking you back to the night you met. 
He’s been on your mind more than ever and when your phone rings one night, an unknown, private number calling you, you somehow know it’s him and so you answer with a cheeky, “The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.”
He lets out a laugh, that same laugh you drew from him in his car all those months ago, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “Salut, ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”
“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc,” you say as you take another bite of the apple you were eating.
“Our?”
“The jacket’s and mine,” you reply. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “Is that so?”
You nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah.”
“I’d like to come see that for myself.”
“Hmmm,” you draw out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”
Your doorbell rings then and you hear it both in your house and echo through your phone and- Oh. Shit.
Charles chuckles in your ear, “Now?”
===
AN: I am so sorry for this very unsatisfying open ending. It was the best I could do for now... *sends hugs to those affected*
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choicesprompts · 7 months
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SMUTEMBER 2023
Please join choices prompts in making September very, very smutty.
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There's really only one rule here: Make it smutty. Real smut or cringey lemons, it's up to you. Submissions are open until 11:59 p.m. CST September 30th, 2023.
To ensure you get reblogged and added to the master list, make sure to do the following:
Tag @choicesprompts
hashtag #choicespromtps and #smutember2023
Don't forget to tell us which prompt you're using!
Prompts don't have to be done in order or used on any particular day. Pick and choose as you like, and submit whenever. You may combine prompts. You may have more than one submission per prompt if you like.
That's it! Go forth, create and be great!
Here are the prompts:
We’ve got time
The morning after
Let me taste you
I’ve never done this before
Let’s swap
Fantasy
Messy
Sweet and slow
Hard and fast
Caught in the act
Voyeurism
Three is not a crowd
Teeth and claws
Clothes stay on
We shouldn’t be doing this…
We just met and this is crazy….
Reclaiming (Make up sex)
Edging
Shower sex
Angry sex
Shhh, you have to keep quiet
Mark me, make me yours
You’re mine
Worship
Punishment
Self love
Jealousy/possession
I can make you forget him
Just friends?
I didn't know I was into that (Kink unlocked)
Bonus Prompts:
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@dcbbw @bebepac @karahalloway @harleybeaumont @aussiegurl1234 @alj4890 @nestledonthaveone
@twinkleallnight  @kat-tia801 @missameliep @jerzwriter @twinkle-320
@argylemnwrites  @katedrakeohd @peonierose @sillydg
@jerzwriter @choicesficwriterscreations
@choicesmonthlychallenge
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tarantula-hawk-wasp · 3 months
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Artists how often do you self reblog art the day you post it?
These are probably poorly thought out options for this poll but I’m curious. Personally I somehow decided on every 3 hours and I rigidly stick to that self-imposed rule
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yuyusuyu · 6 months
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blurred lines and lies — 10. blurred lines and the truth
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synopsis. you were always with yeosang, hips stuck together and hands glued to each other. he was all you knew and you were all he knew too for a while, but then you both grew up, one moving at a faster pace than the other. yeosang left you behind to awkwardly navigate the rest of an adventure—high school—without him while he embarked on a new one—college—by himself. the line of being best friends blurred somewhere along the way, and you find yourself crying on the night he promises to be someone else's because you love him. you've always loved kang yeosang ever since the days where he was trying to figure out who he was (an awkward and painful era for any teenager in middle school), loved him ever since his voice began cracking as it's tone deepened, loved him ever since he took you to that stupid and overpriced school dance in middle school despite not liking being in a huge crowd, you loved him ever since he began to become a quiet and reserved man. you hoped to be on the other side of things for once, on the other side of the line of being just best friends with kang yeosang; you realize now that it was stupid of you to ever have that sort of hope. and while you began to calm down, you wonder about what it's like being on the other side of a friendship. you don't know, but you hope to find out as you embark an adventure without him. but you didn't realize what it would it do to you and yeosang, and what it would do to you and choi jongho, your other best friend.
warnings. crying, mentions of manipulation, mentions of food. if there's anything i should add, let me know!
wc. 1.5k
send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are appreciated! helps with not getting shadowbanned!
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IT’S been five days since then.
you decided that yeosang can stay with you in your hotel room for the time being, not wanting him to be around younghee at all. you didn't tell jongho about this, knowing that he would be angry with your decision.
he's already angry enough with the fact that you got yourself involved in yeosang’s marriage. you two got into an argument over it, and just thinking about it makes your head hurt.
‘living’ with yeosang isn't bad. in all honesty, it feels like you're having a sleepover with him like you used to back in your youth, just a very long one at that. it's made you realize that yeosang has changed quite a bit; well, not that you didn't already know that but it makes you notice things that he's never done before and you know it's a result from younghee.
1. yeosang knows how to cook. you found this out when you woke up early one morning and found him in the kitchen making breakfast. he's a very good one.
2. yeosang doesn't like not having anything to do. this, he told you himself. you were watching a movie with him in the late hours of the night, deciding that a movie marathon would be a nice way to unwind, but instead of watching the movie you two ended up talking. he talked about how he doesn't know what to do with himself if he has nothing to do. it makes him feel awkward, relaxing and being alone makes him feel weird. it made you sad, knowing that he used to value his time alone to recharge. stupid younghee.
3. yeosang still doesn't like skin ship, but he likes to initiate it. you found this out whenever he'd absentmindedly hold your hand at times or whenever you were laying down on the couch and he would lift your legs up to sit and then place them on his lap, one of fingers drumming against them.
4. he's a gym rat. you had an inkling that he's one but your theory was confirmed when he'd come back from work almost three hours later looking very sweaty. you also didn't realize how muscular his arms actually were until he came out of the shower one day, drying his hair with a towel.
and 5. he's too self-sacrificing. you noticed this whenever he'd talk about his marriage to you, and you told him he had to work on that. he said would, and you hope he does.
today is your second to last day in korea. while trying to be there for yeosang, you've also been trying to spend time with your parents. you visit them whenever yeosang works, but a three hour stay usually takes a turn and you leave almost at nine p.m. why? because of younghee. the first time you visited your parents, you were cornered by younghee as soon as you were leaving. she begged and begged for you to tell her where yeosang was, and you threatened to call the police on her. it made her back down and leave you alone, but she was always camping outside of the kang apartment. it made you wonder about how she has all that free time to just wait hours on end for someone that wouldn't come.
you tiredly swipe the hotel key on the lock, yawning and hands ready to twist the doorknob when you hear someone clear their throat.
“yn.”
turning around, you smile at jongho. he raises a brow at your tired expression and follows you inside your hotel room when you open the door and hold it open for him. you're barely reaching the kitchen after taking your shoes off and closing the door when jongho speaks again.
“i'm worried about you.”
you glance at jongho. “why? i don't think there's anything to worry about.”
“yn,” he says, ruffling his hair. “you're always coming back late from visiting auntie and uncle, and we haven't been spending time together and i know this is all because you're helping yeosang out.”
“jongho,” you sigh, turning around to look at him. he's frowning at you, and you frown back at him. “we already talked about this, and i don't want to argue with you again. if i want to help him, then i'll help him. he's my friend. it really doesn't concern you, so please just drop this already.”
“what do you mean this doesn't concern me?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “this is about you so it does concern me, actually.”
“well, everything is fine so there's nothing to worry about.” you pause, fiddling with your fingers now. “i… jongho i think i'm going to stay here for longer.”
jongho’s eyes widen. “what?”
“maybe a month or two,” you mumble. “i think i'll pick up some commissions here, and—”
“this is because of yeosang, isn't it?” jongho scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “see, this is why i'm worried! i'm worried you're going to go back to how things were before and you ending up hurt again because of him. yn, you've become such a wonderful person without yeosang in your life, and you're starting to lose yourself to him again. i really don't want to see you make your life revolve around someone that abandoned you and you get hurt one more time.”
“you're kidding, right?” you look at him bewildered, but you're only met with silence. “jongho, my life does not revolve around yeosang. are you hearing yourself right now? i'm just trying to help yeosang out, and i know you'd be doing the same if i was in yeosang’s shoes.”
“yeosang can just ask someone else,” he huffs, reaching out to grab your hand. “it doesn't have to be you. he can ask san for help or something.”
“don't be ridiculous, jongho.” you purse your lips into a straight line and snatch your hand out of his. “san is on his honeymoon and yeo doesn't really talk to others anymore because he spent too much time trying to make ends meet because of younghee.”
“that's his own fault,” jongho snaps. “and he's a grown man! he doesn't need you to look after him!”
“i know that!” you bite back, slowly getting frustrated. “but i want to be there for him, jongho.”
the door to the bathroom creaks opens and yeosang walks out. he looks between you and jongho, blinking when your heads snap to look at him.
“uh… hi?” he says, waving awkwardly. “is jongho staying for dinner? i'm, uh, making pasta… do you like pasta?”
jongho ignores yeosang’s question and turns his attention back on you, laughing in shock. “he's staying with you? and you didn't tell me?”
“because you were going to react like this!” you cry out, running a hand through your hair. 
“see, this is exactly what i'm talking about!” jongho glowers at you. “you're going back to the way that you were.”
“jongho, i am not! can you please just—”
“no,” he interrupts. “listen to me, yn. you're going to end up falling in love with him again, and you're going to get hurt the second yeosang finds someone else to love that isn't you and you're going to break just like how you did on his wedding night.” jongho turns towards yeosang, fuming. “where were you when she was struggling? where were when she was happy that she accomplished something? you. weren't. there. i was.”
jongho pauses and looks back at you, grabbing your hand gently in his. “i just… i don't want to see you getting hurt again. i just want what's best for you, yn. always. and i think that… yeosang isn't. he's bad for you.”
you stare at jongho with wide eyes, feeling your heart drop to the ground as silence blankets the whole room. you can't bring yourself to speak, heartbeat drumming loudly in your ears.
“you… you loved me?” yeosang blinks at you. “you were in love with me?”
you slowly turn to look at yeosang. he looks shocked as he remains frozen in place, the towel he held in his hand falling to the floor. you swallow the lump in your throat and look down. “it was in the past,” you whisper, “it doesn't matter now, yeo.”
your hands start shaking. you want to cry and run away, feeling bare and exposed.
“why didn't you tell me?” yeosang takes another step forwards, but you take a step away from him and jongho, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill.
“because you were too busy with your ex wife to even notice that your best friend was in love with you and hurting every damn time you didn't come when she needed you.” jongho glares at yeosang, his tone unforgiving. he takes a deep breath, reaching out for you again. you let him grab your hand and run his thumb across your knuckles. “please don't stay here,” he says, his voice soft and low. “come back to london with me… come back home with me.”
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BLURRED LINES AND LIES | yuyusuyu 2023
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natsxaddiction · 1 year
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The Loud House Chapter 15
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The Loud House Chapter 15
The Loud House 
Natasha x Fem!Reader
Masterlist | General Masterlist
Follow my reblog page @natsxaddiction2 for updates
Notes: it's fun filler =)
W/c:5.5k
“I’m going to show you how to count the money,” Charlie says as she passes out several colored slips to each of them. There’s an open board of Monopoly Jr. haphazardly placed on the floor. Three of the five Romanoff kids crowded around it waiting to play another round. They’re in Cara’s bedroom, an unusual occurrence, as they continue to enjoy their Christmas morning. The self-appointed banker Charlie tells her siblings the instructions and how to play correctly. James is setting up the cards. Cara is seated on her bed balancing her laptop on her knees and a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. She’s editing the last touches of her Christmas haul for youtube. They’re all sporting their Christmas pajamas and bedhead even though it’s the middle of the day. 
“Okay, I can count,” Paige insisted as she gripped her wrinkled bills. It’s true. She can count. Money is a different story. She sits crossed-legged, nearly on top of the board, as she tries to get a grasp on the instructions. 
“You have to listen,” Charlie firmly told them. “We have to buy houses. The youngest gets to roll the dice first. Paige, do you want to roll?”
“Yeah,” Paige smiles. She takes a hold of the dice in both hands, drops them onto the board, and waits for them to roll into the appropriate setting. “Okay, how many is that?” She asks. 
“Go ahead, count the dots,” Charlie gently guides her. She counts with her. 
“1…2…3…” Paige counts slowly. She uses her index finger as a place marker. “I go four times? Right?”
“Yeah, you move it four times,” James nods. 
Paige grabs her chosen yellow duck, moves the piece as she counts, and claps for herself for getting it right. 
“It’s $200 to buy,” Charlie holds out her hand. “It’s the bakery. So if we land on it we have to pay you.”
“Oh, cool,” Paige says as if she understands. “How many dollars do I give?” She questions referring to the slips. 
“I’ll help you count,” Charlie helps her to count out the appropriate notes and she passes her the card for the space. The next few rounds go like this. Until the kids get bored. Surely there was something else for them to do. “Cara, what can we do?” Charlie looks to her sister for their next move. 
“You guys could play hide and seek,” Cara shrugs. As long as they were out of her hair it didn’t matter to her. 
“Can you play too?” James asks. He moves to sit up on his knees. Pretty soon they’re all begging her to play. 
“Please?” Charlie begs. 
“Pretty please, Cara?” Paige clasps her hands together. 
“Okay, okay, fine,” Cara closes her laptop. She’s finished with her tasks. Playing one game with her siblings wouldn’t hurt. They’re usually fun to play with anyway. She turns her legs from the bed and looks at all of them. “Here’s the deal. You hide. Fairly. You can’t change spots. You can’t cheat. No going outside obviously. I’ll count first.”
“Wait, I have to put this away!” Charlie holds up her hands. She rushes to place the Monopoly pieces back into the box. She folds up the board and tosses it inside too. She closes it, having to stuff all the pieces back in before she nods proudly at her hard work. Cara shakes her head. They’re going to get in trouble for not putting it back together correctly. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, you have 30 seconds,” Cara closes her eyes. She can hear the pitter-patter of little feet as they all rush out of the room. She counts slowly, hoping to give them a fair chance to find a place. When she stops counting she opens her eyes. Her bedroom door is agape. There’s silence from the first floor. This should be easy. She stands from the bed in search of her siblings. Off she goes. 
***************
In the master bathroom, you and Natasha are keeping up with an important task of your own. Natasha is topless and seated on the counter as you help to clean her nipple piercings. The entire process is very clinical and unsexy. Natasha’s words, not yours. You stand between her open legs, monitoring her face for any signs of pain, as you handle her nipples with care. Natasha on the other hand is not having a good time. Her face is screwed shut, her hands balled into fists at her side, as she tries to breathe deeply. 
“Baby, you need to remember to breathe,” You tell her. You hold a warm washcloth moistened by a sea salt mixture. Her piercings are still very new, raw, and irritated, especially after last night’s lovemaking. You want to apologize immensely for getting carried away but she doesn’t seem to care. She enjoyed everything you did. Right now though, she’s not a fan of the cleaning process. 
Luke is behind you on the floor, biting into one of his frozen teething rings, and tossing around his favorite red ball. He’s occupied for the moment, allowing you to keep your attention on the task at hand. 
“I am breathing,” Natasha opens her eyes. “It’s just. Intense.”
“A good intense or a bad intense?” You help her to switch the cloth to the other one. She gives a half-committal shrug. You inspect both piercings, admiring how pretty they look on her, and you shake your head at yourself. You can’t get distracted. Natasha having noticed your change of pace takes the washcloth from you. “Sorry.” You apologize and she waves you off. “We have to leave for Tony’s soon.”
“Don’t remind me,” She mumbles. She tosses the washcloth into the sink. She inspects her chest and decides they’re good. “I just want to stay here with you. Hide in here forever.”
“They’ll come looking for us,” You place your hands on her thighs. 
“So I guess we better enjoy the peace while we can,” She leans closer to you. Her lips touch yours gently. A chaste kiss. It’s one of those kisses that warm your heart and body from the inside out. You’re interrupted by the turning of the doorknob and someone entering the room. 
“James, if you’re hiding in her-” Cara steps inside. She quickly gasps and covers her eyes. She peeks through her stretched fingers. “Whoa! What the” She kneels to grab Luke and protect his eyes. “You two are not doing this right now.” She turns her head away. “In front of Luke? He’s traumatized. I-I’m traumatized.”
Natasha’s mouth quirks in a ghost of a smile. “We’re not doing anything.”
“You’re topless,” Cara whines. “Is that a piercing?” She peeks again.
“Cara,” You roll your eyes. You step over to block her view of Natasha’s chest. “Maybe if you learned to knock.”
“I know that now,” Cara shakes her head. Luke wriggles to see around her hands. He lets out a whimper when she doesn’t move them. “I was playing hide and seek with the kids. I’m going to take him. You guys should maybe get dressed and never do this to me ever again.”
“Of course, because it was our choice,” You usher her out of the door. 
“They look nice by the way!” Cara yells through the door. “I want them too.” She adds. 
“Over my dead body!” You yell back. She scoffs and walks away. You turn back to Natasha. “I’m buying a deadbolt for every single door in our houses. Both of them.”
“Mhmm,” Natasha hops down from the counter. “Let’s get a move on. We can make it by brunch if we’re quick.”
“Should we get dressed here?” You asked and she turns to you as if you’d grown another head. “Right. Kids are going to ruin their outfits before we step foot on the compound.” You shake your head. You should have known better.
*************************
Cara carries Luke on her hip as she walks through the entire house. After being traumatized and scarred for life, courtesy of her parents, she’s eager to find her siblings. She checks the bedrooms, finds them nowhere, and decides to head down to the first floor. She checks the living room, searching around Melina, Alexei, and Yelena before she comes up with nothing. She passes Luke to Alexei when he reaches for their grandfather. She massages her aching arm. He was a heavy baby. 
“What are you doing?” Yelena sits sideways on the reclining chair. She sits upright to narrow her eyes at her niece. 
“We’re playing hide and seek,” Cara shrugs. “I can’t find anyone.”
“Oh,” Yelena doesn’t have any interest anymore. “Good luck with that.” She lies back against the chair. Cara continues on her way through the house. She keeps her hands on her hip, turning every which way around the kitchen before she spots something amiss. The cabinets next to the dishwasher look a bit wonky. She kneels, opening it, to find Paige folded like a pretzel. 
“Oh! No fair,” Paige whines. She takes Cara’s helping hand and stands. 
“Want to help me find the others?” Cara asks and Paige bounces excitedly. She would love to. She follows Cara down the hall. She stops purposely at the closed laundry room door. Cara notices and turns to her. 
“Is someone in there?” She asks. Paige doesn't confirm or deny. She’s not supposed to tell. Cara chuckles and opens the door. She checks the dryer and the washing machine. That would be a disaster if either of the kids attempted to hide in there. Next, she checks the wicker laundry basket in the corner. Charlie gasps for a breath of air as she pops out of the basket. 
“We found you!” Paige cheers with a loud shriek. “Charlie we found you.”
“I almost died,” Charlie climbs out of the basket. She spots Paige and sighs. “Paige, did you tell her where I was?” 
“Umm,” Paige shrugs. She wouldn’t be giving herself away this time. 
“Okay, do either of you know where James is?”
“Nope,” Charlie denies. “He’s the best hider. You’re not going to find him.” She grins. Cara loves a challenge. They walk through the entire house, coming up short before she finally gives up. All three sisters stand in the hallway, completely stumped on where he could be when they hear snickering coming from the linen closet. Cara’s eyes widen. She checked there already. She steps over to the closet and swings the door open. Again she finds nothing. Then the snickering becomes louder. She grabs the hanging cord to turn on the light. There at the very top shelf of the closet is James. He’s hiding between two giant comforters and a suitcase. 
“How did you even get up there?” Cara asks. “I didn’t see you the first time.”
“I climbed,” James says smugly. He unfolds himself, and then like a true acrobat or gymnast or something, he climbs down from the shelves and hops to his feet. “I was in here for a super long time.”
“I can see,” Cara gestures to his sweaty face. “I guess you win? Technically. I’m not sure.”
“Nice,” He nods. James always won hide and seek. He pulled out all of the stops for the entire thing and he never failed to find the most insane places. 
“Alright, animal farm,” You peek your head out into the hallway. “Shirts and pants on. Faces and teeth brushed. Shoes on. Let’s get ready to go.” You announce. The children disperse all at once into their respective bedrooms. Being in the brownstone meant Cara in her room, Paige and Charlie in theirs, and James in his. You would be there to inspect the children soon. For now, you’re finished dressing. Natasha, the easiest person to dress, watches in interest as you close the bedroom door again. She doesn’t even hide her leering as she leans with her hands against the bed. 
Having already showered early this morning, you put on a fresh pair of underwear and a bra. 
“Since when do you wear those?” Natasha questions. You look down at yourself. It’s a lovely pair of yellow floral lace underwear. You do a spin for her. She likes it. Her eyes darkened with lust as she sat up. 
“You’re complaining?” You raise a brow. “I’m wearing underwear because I keep finding myself in bad predicaments where I have to.”
“Hmm, I can’t say I like the change,” Natasha stands. She steps over you to run a hand over your ass. “Though you do look good in them.”
“Well, thank you.” You kiss her cheek. “Now are you trying to engage in a very quick, quickie, or are you going to let me get dressed?” 
Natasha looks as if she’s debating it. That is until she hears the pitter-patter of little feet running past the door. There’s no way she could do it. She sighs and picks out a sweater for you to wear. It’s a deep purple turtleneck that hugs your curves. 
“I’m going to go help the littles,” She says. “All of their suitcases were put into the car this morning. Alexei and Melina are driving up later.”
“Good, I’m ready,” You spray a few pumps of perfume at various points of your body. Natasha leaves to go and follow the children. She finds them all sitting on the stairwell with their coats, shoes, and clothes all on. This is a first. Maybe they’re just excited to go to Tony’s. Who wouldn’t be? This is the first time in four months they’ve seen any of their family in person. She’s pretty excited too. 
“Mama, we are all ready to go,” Paige stands for Natasha to help with her coat. Natasha automatically understands what she wants. She zips Paige’s coat. Then she bends down to help her put her pink glittery paw patrol boots on the correct foot. 
“That’s lovely,” Natasha nods. “Why can’t you be ready like this for school?”
“School’s not that fun,” Charlie chimes in. “Uncle Tony’s is fun.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Natasha walks over to the den to take Luke from Alexei’s arms. He’s cuddly and she knows this means he’s tired. She gets him dressed into his snowsuit all the while listening to the kids converse. Their conversation goes from bickering to laughing, to more bickering. It’s nothing out of the ordinary so she doesn’t chime in until necessary. “Okay, that’s enough. Charlie and James. I won’t be having any more of this today.” She warns them. 
“Okay, are we all ready?” You arrive at the foyer. You give everyone a once-over. You think they all look good. “Okay, let’s go.” 
You all pile into the car with little problems. The third row is where Cara, Charlie, and James sit. In the front, you have Paige in her chair. She happily sits, hands in her lap, and her feet swinging against the back of Natasha’s seat. Luke, is not too happy about sitting in his car seat. He fusses, cries, and screams as you drive away from the house. The rest of the family would be driving their rental car to the compound. 
“Mama, I don’t think he likes the seat,” Paige says from behind you. “I think it’s too tight.”
“It’s not too tight,” Natsaha assures Paige. “He doesn’t want to sit there. He will fall asleep soon.” Natasha reaches into the diaper bag to give Luke a teething ring. She stretches her arm towards the back, waving it to catch his attention, and he doesn’t notice her. His frustration is too much for him to notice. She tries again and this time he takes it with a sigh of relief. The rest of the car seems to breathe one too.  
**************
You don’t know what’s going on behind you. The hour’s drive from Brooklyn Heights to Upstate New York for Tony’s compound is a bit of a trek. It gives you a little anxiety every time you do it. There’s nothing but open roads and snow. You’re not afraid of anything else per se. The idea of being so alone out here makes you think bad thoughts. Never mind the fact that you’re not alone and there are six other people in the car. Some people enjoy road trips. Maybe you would too if you weren’t traveling with five children. Perks of the job you guess. You’re not a big fan of road trips of any kind even still. You cannot wait to be parked and at the compound already. Luke has finally fallen asleep after a fussy first half of the ride. He hates his car seat more and more every day and always lets it be known. Despite the minor bump, the drive has been good. You’re almost halfway to your destination. You can see the finish line nearing. 
“Smell my finger,” James demands from his seat. He doesn’t give Charlie time to protest as he sticks his index finger directly under her nose. He’s miming a joke he’s seen on television a dozen times before. 
“Ew,” Charlie cries. “It smells like ass.” She bats his hand away. He laughs at her misfortune. Whatever form of prank this is his siblings aren’t fond of. 
“Hey!” You call to the back seat. Natasha glances to the back and she’s now bearing witness to James forcing Cara to smell his finger too.
“Gross, it does smell like ass,” Cara covers her nose. “Dude, what the hell is that?”
“Hey, with the cursing back there,” Your scolding goes unnoticed. It seems as if you’re talking to yourself. 
“Mom, his fingers stink,” Cara shoves James. “Why did you sit him back here with us?” She complains as she pushes herself further against the window. Charlie, in the middle seat, isn’t as lucky and she pinches James whenever he tries to shove his fingers in her face again. “His fingers smell like straight ass.”
“Okay,” Natasha chastises all three kids. “James put your finger down.” She doesn’t even want to know or ask why his hands smell like they do. 
“James, stop,” Charlie whines. “You’re being stupid.”
“The next person to curse, I swear, I’m going to come back there and kick your ass.” You say in jest. This has Natasha whacking you with the back of her hand. “Ouch! I’m driving here.” You gesture to the road in front of you, 
“Mommy,” Paige speaks up. “You can’t…y-you can’t kick my ass.” She stutters. Which sends her siblings into fits of laughter. “Cause I didn't even say a bad word.”
“You just did,” James points out and she gasps. 
“No,” Paige frowns, “Mama!” She doesn’t appreciate her siblings laughing at her mistake. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You’re fine, Paige,” Natasha dismisses. “Here put this on his hands.” She shuffles through the diaper bag to find the small clear bottle of hand sanitizer. She tosses it to the back for Cara to catch.
“I’m going to do the whole thing,” Cara opens the lid and squeezes half the bottle onto James’ hands. James grins happily while he rubs his hands together. “Here take some more. Dookie boy.” She mumbles under her breath. 
“It’s not even that bad,” James giggles again. 
“It’s disgusting,” Charlie forces him back to his side of the car. 
“Not as disgusting as you,” James shoots back. He sticks his tongue out at his sister teasingly. 
“Need I remind you, James Anthony, Santa has a 24-hour return policy.” You relax in your seat.
“No way,” James doesn’t believe you one bit. 
“Yes, way. Now sit back, please. Leave your sisters alone.” You glance into the rearview mirror. You sigh. Pretty soon Charlie would be the one annoying him. It’s a vicious cycle that never ended. Just a little longer until your destination. 
“Um, Mommy, I have to pee,” Paige announces. Perfect timing on her part. “Very, very bad.”
“Can you hold it?” You ask. “We’re almost to the compound.”
“You know she can’t,” Natasha gestures to the diner you’re about to pass up. You sigh. Of course, she can’t. She’s three. Potty training is still hit or miss these days. Though she does have fewer accidents. Something you’re thankful for. You’re not about to break her streak now. Reluctantly, you pull into the parking lot. You find a parking space and turn the engine off. 
“Can I come in?” Charlie asks. 
“Let’s go,” You hop out of your seat. You go to Paige’s side of the car and open the door. “Why did you take off your shoes?” You look at her sock-covered feet. She has the nerve to wiggle her toes. You check under her seat, not finding her boots anywhere, and you sigh again. You decide not to question it further. You’ll carry her. You help her out of her chair, and back into her coat, and you hold her on your hip. Charlie follows after you in a run. 
“I want to go too,” James frowns. He doesn’t want to be in the car if everyone else gets to go inside. 
“Catch up with them,” Natasha allows it. He follows soon after. 
Inside the diner, you approach the counter and ask for the bathroom. It’s pretty empty save for a few people you assume are regulars. You’ve been to this particular place once or twice during previous road trips. The food isn’t that good in your opinion. It’s a place to stop for Paige to pee and that’s all. 
“You have to buy something first,” The woman, Nadine, answers with a bored expression on her face. It’s as if she’d rather be anywhere but here today. You can’t blame her. It’s Christmas.  
“What? To use the bathroom?” You ask incredulously. You’ve never had this rule before. If it weren’t for Paige’s wriggling in your arms you would have argued this woman down. You reach into your pocket. You grab your card, grumbling to yourself,  and hand it to Charlie. “Fine, they’ll have a shared piece of the chocolate cake.”
Nadine reaches under the counter to pass you the bathroom key. You practically snatch it from her hands and carry Paige into the bathroom. You realize how difficult of a task this will be with Paige not having shoes. You have to think fast. 
“This bathroom is disgusting,” You mutter to yourself. It’s not half bad but it’s certainly not up to your standards. You guess it would do. You set Paige on the sink, moving quickly to place toilet seat covers over everything before you sit her down. 
“Mommy, can I have cake too?” Paige doesn’t want to be left out. 
“Yes,” You help her wipe. “Wash those hands.” Another trying task. You carry Paige out to the counter where James and Charlie have devoured most of the chocolate slice you bought. “My card?” You ask and Charlie hands it back to you. You stuff it in your pocket, sitting Paige on a nearby stool. She eats her cake happily. You order a slice of red velvet cake for Cara. It’s packed into a plastic container and you're on your way. Everyone is crowded back into the car and prepared for the ride. Cara takes her slice with a smile. She would never say no to a treat.  This time when you start the car Luke wakes up with a cry. What a lovely road trip. 
************************************
When you pull up to the compound there are already a couple of cars inside. Going through security is a breeze. You hand them your IDS, allow Natasha to give them a menacing glare, and they greenlight you down the long stretch of road that is essentially the driveway. You cut the engine, and unbuckle your seatbelt. You lie your head against the steering wheel. You just need a moment. The kids rush out and Natasha remains. Luke doesn’t like that his siblings are leaving him so he cries again. It’s the type of crying and babbling that could be cute if it weren’t so loud. 
“They’re not ours this entire week,” You mutter to yourself as if it’s a mantra you need to remember. You would get a bit of a break with everyone around. Natasha gets Luke out and he immediately quiets once he’s in her arms. He lies his head on her shoulder with a sniffle. Apparently, she’s made it all better. 
You and Natasha walk side by side through the compound. It doesn’t look any different than the last time you’d been here. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Random robots resting in various parts of the building. Plants. Expensive Art. All of it screams Tony Stark’s money. You make your way to the second floor where everyone is crowded in the lounge. 
“There they are!” Sam Wilson raises his hands as if there’s just been a touchdown for a football game. There’s a bit of cheering from everyone else. You’re immediately met with the warmth of family and friends around you. 
“Hello,” You wave to everyone. Paige, now the shy child, steps over to hold on to your pants leg. “Paige, there’s Aunt Wanda and Aunt Monica. I thought you couldn’t wait to see them.”
“Hi,” Paige squeaks. She just needs a bit of time to warm up. 
“Oh, look at that big boy,” Laura Barton coos as she wants to be the first to greet you all. She offers a hug to you and Natasha. She holds her arms out for Luke and he falls into them. He leans his head back, inspecting Laura’s face as if to see if he knows her. She doesn’t seem to be any danger to him. 
“Take him,” Natasha hands the baby boy off. He doesn't cry which is surprising to both of you. Laura has the magic touch it seems. “He’s been crying since he woke up.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Laura coos. “Look at that hair! Last time I saw you, you were a bald and tiny thing.” 
“Where’s Peter?” James ask. He’s waited too long to see his friend. It doesn’t matter if the teen is years older than him. James looks up to the boy as if he’s his hero. Peter never minds James being being his shadow. He enjoys having James around. 
“He and his Aunt May are coming soon,” Steve Rogers holds out his hands to give him a high five. James winds back his arm and slaps his hands with all of his might. “That a boy.” Steve laughs. 
“Do we get our presents now?” Charlie is the one to ask. 
“They’re in the grand room. The other kids are in there too,” Laura informs them. They don’t need to be told twice. 
“Is that my girl?” Clint asks as he steps into the lounge. He walks over to Natasha with his arms open. She leans into his body, not caring about the display of affection, as he holds her. The hug is long and probably much needed. You and Laura share a knowing look. These two have always been a bit of a packaged deal. You’re just the spouses. Of course, it’s always been like this between them. You don’t feel any jealousy about their close relationship. It’s theirs and you understand the necessity and history behind it. 
“You didn’t bring your hot friend this year?” Sam questions. 
“Denise? She’s spending the holiday with her parents this year,” You answer back. “You have her number. Don’t you?”
“Damn, I do,” Sam nods. He should give her a call. You remove your coat from your body and drape it over one of the chairs. You walk over to Wanda and Monica, throwing yourself over both of their laps, before smiling up at them. 
“Hi,” You grin. Monica taps your forehead. 
“Hello,” She says. “You look good.”
“Why thank you,” You cross your legs. “You do realize Paige is going to be your child for the weekend right?”
“Really? She doesn’t seem like she wants to talk with us?” Wanda glances over to where Paige is now clinging to Natasha as she speaks with Clint. 
“Give her an hour and she’ll be all over this compound,” You promise them. “She gets shy around everyone for some reason. Adds to the cute factor I think.”
“It does,” Monica agrees. 
“The party hasn’t started without me has it?” Tony Stark saunters into the room. He’s wearing a grey shirt, slacks, and black shoes. A simple outfit but you know better. Everything he’s wearing is at least a thousand dollars. His watch alone screams money. He’s walking with Pepper by his side and you’re surprised by what you see. She’s sporting the slightest bit of a baby bump. 
“What?” You sit up. You rise from Wanda and Monica’s laps to walk over to Pepper. “When did this happen? I thought we were done after Morgan?” You hold Pepper at an arm’s length away from you to inspect her. 
“Yeah, I thought so too,” Pepper jokes. “Tony’s swimmers had other plans.”
“They’re strong,” Tony says smugly. 
“Oh, I don’t need to hear about it,” You shook your head. “I can’t believe it. You guys look amazing though.”
“What’s up, Red, no hug?” Tony raises his hand. Natasha rolls her eyes. There’s no malice behind the act. She does come over to hug him. Once all of the greetings are done everyone makes their way over to the bigger lounge which it’s decorated for Christmas. It’s in there the kids are already opening the presents they’ve gotten from extended family. 
“Hi, Auntie Nat,” Lila waves from her spot. She’s sitting in a reclining chair with Cara on her side. It’s amazing how they both fit. They’re watching something on a phone and you’re sure it’s probably TikTok. The hustle and bustle of home excites you as everyone gets comfortable. 
Luke, upon seeing the other kids playing, wiggles out of Laura’s arms to crawl over to them. He sits on his knees , hands in his lap before he hurriedly grabs a toy. James, who’s been playing with Nathaniel, doesn’t mind. That is until Luke decides to put the toy in his mouth. 
“No, Luke, it’s not food,” James gently scolds him. “It’s a toy. See.” He pushes the car across the floor, the whirring of the wheels loud to Luke’s ears, but engaging enough for him to crawl after the car. Luke grabs it, holds it up, and then attempts to push it in the same fashion James did. When it doesn’t happen he looks to his brother for the next steps. Nathaniel shows him this time. 
“I got a big, big doll house,” Morgan Stark brags as she sits with Charlie and Paige who’s now warmed up to the idea of playing with others. “What did you get?”
“I got a bike and clothes, and toys too,” Charlie nods. She rips open a package she’s been wanting to open. The gift wrapping lets you know it’s from Sam. “Oh, Mama, look. I got colored pencils and a sketchbook.” Charlie waves. 
“I see, that’s pretty cool,” Natasha says from her seat. You all watch as the kids open their gifts. They’re tasked with cleaning their paper and getting all of the trash together. Even after Tony tells them they don’t need to. Natasha sends them off with a warning look and they do as told. 
When they’re done, you realize you only have a few hours until the event. The kids have skipped nap time and it’s probably too late to do it now. Which you’re not too worried about. Sometime during the fun, Paige squeezes herself into a place between Monica and Wanda. 
“Hi there,” Wanda leans over. “I’m so happy to see you. How have you been?”
“Good,” Paige swings her feet against the couch. “I got lots of presents for Christmas.”
“You did? What was your favorite thing?” Monica helps Paige onto her lap so they can speak with her better. 
“I got a doll house, and some toys, and new boots, see!” She holds up her legs for the woman to see her brand-new boots. “They fit my feet. I can put them on by myself.”
“Well, I’d say that’s a very good Christmas gift then,” Monica says. Wanda watches their interaction. She loves that Monica is so soft with children. 
“What did you get for Christmas?” Paige asks. 
“I got earrings from Auntie Wanda,” Monica moves her hair to the side for Paige to inspect them. 
“Real earrings?” Paige moves her face closer to see. It’s not like she knows the difference. 
“Real diamonds, yep,” Monica laughs. 
“Wow,” Paige soaks in the information. “I want to get my earrings in my ear when I turn five years old.”
“That’s only about a year away. A little bit more,” Monica counts. “I think you would look very pretty with earrings.” Paige beams at the compliment. 
The conversation between everyone ebbs and flows throughout the day. You help Pepper with a few things in the kitchen. She’s not the cooking type, and neither are you truly, but you both make a few dishes that the kids requested. There will be chefs and tons of staff here later for the party. It’s not a huge one. At least not by Tony’s standards. Just close family and friends. No one would be allowed in or out without permission. 
It would be a good time. 
177 notes · View notes
zhongrin · 2 years
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where else would i go?
◇ characters ◇ zhongli
◇ tags ◇ fluff
◇ a/n ◇ if this sounds highly self indulgent it's bc it is-
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don't think about zhongli who fumbles with technology but learns how to operate his nokia? phone just to text you good morning and good night without fail every single day.
don't think about zhongli regularly asking whether you've eaten your meals and taken your dose of water for the day.
don't think about zhongli coming to deliver you your dinner in the office and staying with you until 4am in the morning, calming you down when you get frustrated at your seemingly unending work, tucking you in when you crash on your bed, and accompanies you back to office four hours later with worry in his eyes.
don't think about zhongli who would gently take your hand in his and rub comforting circles on your palm when you get overwhelmed in crowded places.
don't think about zhongli stroking your hair and rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head gently when you're crying into his shoulder.
don't think about zhongli who wakes up in the middle of the night when you call him and listens attentively despite his exhaustion, who asks to facetime you on his ipad when you said you had a nightmare, who smiles into the camera when you ask him why he's putting on a coat and where he's going when it's already so late, who answers with a voice hoarse from sleep yet as tender as ever, "where else? to you, my love."
don't think about zhongli because he would make the perfect (well, almost) lover one can ever dream of.
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© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
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◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me
ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask!
628 notes · View notes
groguspicklejar · 2 years
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Chapter Eight [The Ties That Bind]
Summary: The Mandalorian's absence leaves you, Beetle and Peli Motto at the mercy of this young gunslinger, who plans to bring your worst nightmare into a reality.
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader
Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Brexlee, Dark themes of Dubcon, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Toro Calican being a little shit, Mutual Pining, Helmetless!Din, Self Depracating Thoughts, Soft!Din, Injuries, Din speaking Mando’a, Fluff.
Word Count: 6.5K
A/N: It's finally here😭 I'm not very good at fight scenes, so I think that was the one thing that really hindered me. Also, just had to go through a gruelling school term but I made it. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
Please leave a like, comment and reblog❤️
Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Nine
Masterlist
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There are times when you think fear has a distinct taste.
The first time that thought came to you was when you began to realize the kind of man your father was. How willing he was to sell you to the most wretched of people out there who dressed in the finest silks and bathed in the most potent perfumes.
The second time that thought came to the forefront of your mind didn’t come long after. It was when you had to leave Naboo and face the rest of the universe on your own with limited money and resources. During that short period, you’ve quickly come to learn that when there is discord on the planet you set foot on, that it’s always the women and little girls who suffer first and most.
The third time, you were sure what fear tastes like. The scent of it –your fear– flooded your throat when you took in that last deep breath as the man you thought had loved you hurt you in the worst possible way. It kept you still. Kept you from screaming. Paralyzed, when you should’ve fought back and clawed your way from under him. You tasted that fear with the bruises that came after. With the way your thighs hurt. With the way your throat hurt from breathing. With each glance over your shoulder, wondering if he was going to catch you and force you to yield to him again.
You remember how suffocating it was in the cantina after that dreadful night. Even with the normal amount of customers flooding the room, it felt like they were crowding you at every side. You found it hard to breathe that morning. And it wasn’t because Brexlee had his hands on your throat the night before. You remember how it felt like all eyes on you, like they all knew what happened. Like they all saw how helpless you were against him. And they wouldn’t have given a damn if they did.
Since then, you were careful to swallow it down. To make sure that fear doesn’t control your thoughts and your actions. You were also careful to hide the marks from the Mandalorian. At first, it seemed ridiculous to do so. He wouldn’t hurt you, nor judge you for the actions of that evil man. But you didn’t want him to know because deep down–
–deep down, you were ashamed.
You were already a burden to him. Weak, as you couldn’t even defend yourself and depended entirely on him for safety. Fragile, as you proved so when you couldn’t stand to be touched after the attack on Sorgan. You don’t want this to diminish you to something even less than that.
Through all this, you were cautious enough to keep yourself from trembling as this new bounty hunter marched you down to Peli’s. Thankfully, Toro, as he had introduced himself, didn’t intend to hurt you or Beetle.
However, he intended to do something much worse. Bring you both to Nevarro. When he mentioned that little fact, your blood had chilled straight to the core. You don’t think anything scares you as much as the idea of seeing Brexlee again.
He didn’t do as much as raise his hands at you when you tried to run. Only put a blaster to your head and told you to behave. You and Peli had been tied up and made to sit in front of him while he held Beetle under his arm. “Karga paid me good money to bring you back without so much as a scratch, so sit still and look pretty for me, sweetheart.”
You’re not sure where Brexlee got the money to ask such a thing. Also, you didn’t think he’d care enough. Naturally, you thought he might be livid enough to stipulate that you be brought in dead or alive. And if you had to take a wild guess when it comes to the profession of bounty hunting, bringing in a dead quarry would be easier than having to go through the fuss.
So you concluded that someone else had put a bounty on your head. Someone with more money. It was possible that it might be your father’s doing. But he hadn’t risked putting your name out in the open for some degenerate to snatch you up and hurt you thus far. Unless he got desperate. Or someone else was looking to use you as leverage against him.
“Mando should be here any minute now.” Toro says while glancing outside. “And when he does, I’m gonna be a legend when I bring him back to the Guild.”
That means he’s still alive. For how much longer, you’re not sure. With each minute that passes, you grow more and more worried and can’t help but fear the worst. He could be hurt. That must be why he’s taking so long to get here, right? Otherwise, he’d already be here to tear Calican to shreds for so much as putting one finger on the baby’s head.
So Toro wants the Mandalorian’s bounty. He’s in over his head. Foolish for even thinking he stood a chance against someone so heavily armed and experienced. Yet he bested the Mandalorian and got a head start to find you and the baby to use both of you as leverage. He’s smarter than you gave him credit for, but that doesn’t guarantee he’ll win it all.
Your injured hand started to throb. You hadn’t taken your pain medication in a while. With Toro’s arrival, you had not gotten the chance. So it started to hurt more than you were used to. Nothing had gone right since the beginning of this new day and you just wanted it to end.
“You okay, sweety?” Peli asks when she sees you wincing.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” You rotated your hand in the cuffs around your wrists, trying to relieve the ache. “I just haven’t taken my pain medication in a long while.”
Peli huffed and looked at the captor. “Hey, can’t you let her have her pills? She’s really hurt.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not my problem.”
Beetle whined from his arm, reaching out to you. Toro tells him to be quiet and your heart twinged at the baby’s distress. “Stop making a fuss kid, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
You held your breath when he pointed his baster to Beetle’s head. Although it was playful, you didn’t like the sight. You don’t want to even think about what would happen if that weapon’s safety isn’t on. You want to scream for him not to do that, but you don’t want to startle him or make him angry.
Peli balled her restrained fists. “You stinkin–”
“Hey!” She was about to stand up to yell at him. Toro suddenly points his blaster at her, halting her tracks and her insults in an instant.  “Sit down, you old hag.”
Peli seethed where she stood, unmoving. Eyes wide, you clasp her elbow and gently tug her back to you to sit down. She does so while grumbling obscenities under her breath, her glare never faltering from the young man, who seemed satisfied with himself.
Strangely enough, you’re not as afraid as you actually thought you might be if something like this occurs. It was an imminent possibility, considering the fact that you were travelling with a wanted man, who is armed and dangerous. Perhaps it was because Toro isn’t as intimidating as he thinks he is.
You were worried about Beetle. The Mandalorian said that the Empire was after him. You don’t want to even begin to think about what they have planned for him if Toro collects his bounty. You need to make sure that he doesn’t.
“Now both of you should behave, or I’m gonna start pulling the trigger to prove a point.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Which is?”
“You’re my one-way ticket to fame, baby.” He walked over to you and lifted your chin with the tip of his blaster. The cool metal didn’t phase the stern expression you held.  “And you have no idea what I’m willing to do to keep you by my side until I drop you off to the Guild.”
You tried, Maker, you tried not to let that get to you. Just the mere thought of seeing that rocky planet again made your stomach churn. Being dragged all the way to that hellhole would be your worst nightmare manifesting into reality.
Flashes of Brexlee haunting gaze make you tremble. He was your worst nightmare. Your one true fear. You think back to the Mandalorian telling you that he’s bad news and he had been right. In hindsight, you realize he might have seen more of Brexlee’s ugly side than you have. That had been the cause for Mando to warn you, to tell you to leave, despite there being no reason for him to waste his time.
The Mandalorian cared for you. He had since you became friends on Nevarro. You’d like to hope that sentiment grew as you now travelled with him. You‘d like to hope that he’d try to keep you safe, even if you are more of a liability than an asset to him.
But as the seconds count, doubt makes a stronghold on your chest. Each memory of him holding out his bare hand to you is all you can cling to because you’d like nothing more than to grasp it and let his warmth keep you from drowning.
Each second falls through the sands of time and you aren't even sure that the Mandalorian will return.
You try not to cry in front of Calican.
You lean back on the wall and close your eyes. For those few months, you hold your breath for some sliver of hope to get you, Beetle and Peli out of this alive and unharmed. You wished for someone to walk into Peli’s shop and see what was happening. To either stop Calican or call for help.
Most of all, you wished for the Mandalorian to be here.
You think back to the blaster he gave you not too long ago. It was foolish of you to let your guard down, especially on a criminal-infested place like Tattooine. The Mandalorian would probably tell you to keep it on you at all times. You don’t think you remember a time you’ve seen him without a weapon on him. Be it a blaster, a knife or a rifle or anything potentially dangerous. As is the life of a Mandalorian.
Through all the time you’ve spent with him, you hadn’t realized how much his presence stuck to you like glue. Like he was binding himself to your soul and you were powerless to stop him. You miss his voice. As modulated as it was underneath that helmet of his, you miss it dearly. You want him to come back so badly–
“Get up.” You open your eyes when you hear Toro’s voice. He nudged your leg with his foot. Peli was already standing up and grumbling under her breath.
Slowly, you get on your feet. “What’s going on?”
“He’s here.”
There’s the blood that howls loudly in your ears and you stumble, nearly falling to your knees. You barely catch yourself while you glance around to catch a glimpse of any Beskar armour. Even when you couldn’t find any, your heart didn’t stop pounding.
“Took that tin can long enough.” Peli mumbles, rolling her eyes.
He’s here.
It felt like a fever-dream all over again. Like that day the Mandalorian asked you to leave Nevarro with him and simply left through the window. He was there but then he wasn’t. The mere thought of his presence raised goosebumps on your skin and left you breathless.
“Move.” Toro pushed you. “Get on the ship.”
You couldn’t be more willing to follow a direct order if it meant you get to see him again.
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“Took  you long enough, Mando!!”
The air was palpable.
You couldn’t hear yourself breathe with the blood rushing so fiercely in your ears. The beating in your heart kept you hypervigilant of your every move. Especially with Calican keeping his blaster pointed at the base of your skull.
 “Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh partner?” Toro’s smug voice jarred your ears.
But he was here. Standing before you and Peli. Alive and in one piece. You don’t think you’ve ever been more relieved to see the Mandalorian, but the way your lungs nearly cave in on themselves as he takes one step after another makes you realize how much you truly missed him.
The Mandalorian walked closer with his own weapon raised. This might be the one of the few times you’ve seen him this visibly tense and ready to strike at the moment’s notice. You remember how taut he was when he defended you from George and Saros not too long ago. How ready he was to kill. You have yet to see him in action and you’re not exactly sure how to feel about that.
You could see it. That gentle nature of his retreating into the darkness, leaving the cold and hardened bounty hunter to take charge of the situation. The looming threat of blasters with their safety off hanging over everyone’s heads was the one thing that kept you on edge.
“Drop your blaster and raise em.” Toro ordered the Mandalorian before dropping a pair of restraints on the ground. “Cuff him.”
You want to go to him. Truly, you’d love nothing more than to run to him right at that second. But you glanced behind you to catch Beetle’s frightened eyes. You can’t leave him. You won’t.
Luckily, Calican didn’t let you make that choice. “Not you, sweetheart. Let the old hag do it.”
You really aren’t prone to violence, but you do your best to temper the urge to smack the arrogant smirk off his face. Peli walked down the ramp to pick up the restraints.
“Kriffing scug rat.” she sneered lowly as she went towards the Mandalorian.
 “You’re a guild traitor, Mando.” he loudly declared. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target that you helped escape. And this–” You feel his blaster press against the back of your head. “–would be the pretty little princess you kidnapped.”
Kidnapped? You quirk an eyebrow.
Who keeps telling these bounty hunters that you were kidnapped? Who was feeding them such a blatant lie? Saros had thought the same when he found you on Sorgan and now this one has fallen down the same path. It doesn’t make sense.
“Fennec was right.” said Calican. “Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild…”
You watch as the Mandalorian raises his hands until they are by his head when Peli steps behind him. Then you witness her hesitation as she goes to cuff him. You’re not sure what their brief interaction is, but it raises your hackles. The air shifts and you’re sure that the man behind you doesn’t feel it while he’s pandering on. Something was about to happen.
“It’ll make me legendary.”
You saw the bright flash before you heard it. Although you were blinded, you knew that this was your only chance. You jerk his hand off course when he takes the first shot and he misses the Mandalorian by a mile. Toro drops Beetle and shoves you off the ramp. You were lucky enough to land on your feet, but your knees buckle and you fall, barely reacting in time to land on your arms instead of your face.
Mando shot him before he could take the perfect aim. It was over before you could blink. Toro was down. Most likely dead from being shot at that distance. Some sick part of you hoped he was dead.
“Where is it?” Peli cried as she and Mando looked around.
Beetle was nowhere to be found. You panicked, struggling to get to your feet. Had he gotten hurt in the scuffle?
You heard his little chittering behind a metal bucket. His green ear was poking out and then you caught his eye. He was alive and most importantly, unharmed. You breathed a sigh of relief. “Found him.”
“There you are.” Peli kneels down beside you, reaching for the baby. He waddles right into her awaiting hands, cooing when she picks him up. “You hiding from us?”
You looked at the Mandalorian, checking for any blood on him. It was nearly impossible to tell if he had any injuries you could possibly tend to. So you had to ask, “Are you hurt, Mando?”
“I’m fine. Are you?” His helmet tilts down as he looks at you, his hands grasping your elbows. “Did he hurt you?”
You shook your head. “No, I’m alright.”
You briefly register Peli cooing at the baby behind you as the Mandalorian holds you in his arms. His voice wanders into your soul, “Are you sure?” 
“Yes, Mando. I’m sure.”
Once he was sure that you were unharmed, he nodded, accepting your answer.
You and the Mandalorian decided to stay for a little while longer. Having one last meal with her was good. Beetle was exhausted by the end of it, his big eyes droopy as he nearly fell head first into his bowl of soup. Peli was glad to hold him one last time with moisture lining her eyes.
“I’m gonna miss the little guy.” she places the sleeping baby into the Mandalorian’s arms, then wipes away a tear.
You and Peli embraced each other. It was hard not to be as emotional as she was. You weren’t sure when you were going to see her again. She has been nothing but kind to you ever since you’ve met her. Your mother would love her as much as you do. You really do hope to find the chance to meet her again one day.
“Thank you.” you whispered to her.
“Come visit me any time.” she says while pulling away. “Don’t be scared to drag that tin can back here when you get the chance, okay?”
“Okay.” you promised, choking back a wet laugh.
Yeah, you don’t think you’ll ever regret meeting her.
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Soon, the ship was in the air and in hyperspace. When you were finally alone with the Mandalorian and the child had been safely nestled in his floating pod, you didn’t hesitate to embrace him.
You’re not even mad at him anymore. You were just glad that he’s alive and he came back. For you and Beetle. No matter the distance Toro attempted to put between this little crew of yours, it didn’t matter. The Mandalorian still came back and he did what was necessary to see you again.
He smelled like gunfire and the hot suns of Tattooine. Formidable as an entire army of soldiers. Strong as a mountain. He was here. He was alive and safe. And he’s here to keep you safe.
You’re not sure why that made the tears spring to your eyes and your lungs seize. Crying was not something you did often, even around either one of your parents. It felt like a bother to cry to your mother and your father saw it as a weakness. So crying in front of the Mandalorian was not something you were particularly proud of.
“I thought you were dead.” you sobbed, unwilling to let go of him, even as he pulled away. “I thought he hurt you.”
You thought he wasn’t coming back. You thought he left you and Beetle. What were you ever going to do without him? How would you ever survive?
How would you ever feel safe again without his presence guarding you? Warding away all the predators and unscrupulous souls who sought to tear you down? 
“I’m alright.” He puts his hands on your shoulders, the solid grip somehow gentle and comforting. “I’m still alive and kicking. I’m still here.”
His voice lulled your tricky nerves to a slow calm. With ease, you melt into the modulated baritone, allowing it to seep into your veins. He’s always been so good at settling you, and always so careful about it too.
He pulls you back to him, his arms tightly encasing you to his strong form. “Not a damn thing would’ve stopped me from coming back, Cyare. I would’ve crawled back here if it meant I could protect you both.”
You want to bury yourself underneath that armour. You want to be underneath his skin. There wasn’t anything you wanted more than to be as close to him as possible. Even more, you don’t ever want to let go. Because right here, with him, you are safe. 
You remember what he told you on Sorgan. The weight of his conviction floored you then as it did now.
Your place is here…
with me.
He seemed so sure. That his side is where you should be. He even told you that he didn’t want to leave you on Sorgan, despite being the best option for you and Beetle, and that you both mean so much to him. How can he say that when all you’ve both done is disrupt his life? The time he could’ve spent helping his covert was wasted in helping you survive and escape danger.
“Hey…” He crooks his finger under your chin to make you look at him. “You don’t have to go back there unless you want to. I promise.”
It pains you. The fact that he’s going out of his way to look after you. His main focus should be on Beetle, on the child he’s protecting from the Empire. You’re only a hindrance to his primary objective.
Your shoulders draw in as your thumb and index fingers pinch the pinkie on your other hand. “I’m sorry.”
You feel his hand on your cheek. “For what?”
“For being such a liability.” Your hand grips his wrist, even as you lean into his gentle touch. “Your job is to find this little one’s people and I just seem to be getting in the way.”
“You’re not a liability.” He cups your cheeks, lifting your head. “Look at me.”
You squirm in his grasp, too unwilling to do as he says as more tears build in your eyes. It was too much to even attempt to look at him when you were on the verge of breaking. He doesn’t let you go, keeping his grip firm. Your cheeks burn when he holds your gaze.
“Hey.” he sternly speaks while his thumbs circle the apples of your cheeks in an effort to soothe you. “I have a lot of burdens to deal with, but you are not one of them.”
There’s a part of you that almost doesn’t believe him. Through the darkness that clouds your soul, his voice remains the single guiding light. Much like the moon and all the stars that burn bright in the night sky.
“Cyare…” Your skin prickles with goosebumps and you inhale a shaky breath. “I meant what I said before. You are not a burden to me.”
You believe him. Every word relieves any doubt in your mind that you are unwanted here. Every word shakes the looming whispers that make you fear what may come and you are only left with relief. But it is paired with an extreme amount of exhaustion that sags your body against the metal wall of the ship and you slide down until you’re sitting on the floor.
“What’s wrong?” You spot the Mandalorian kneel down before you, his hands framing your shoulders. “I thought you said you weren’t hurt.”
You smile apologetically at the overwhelming concern in his voice. Always so protective, always so worried. He never lacks this need to take care of you whether it is necessary or not. Or even if it doesn’t concern him.
“I’m tired all of a sudden.” You were fairly certain that you can’t stand up. There was a certainty in your mind that your knees would buckle if you attempted it.
“The adrenaline is wearing off.” the Mandalorian explained as he knelt before you. “Your body is crashing.”
That explains it. Your body starts to tremble and you can’t help but count each breath your lungs take. Your legs were no longer functional for now and you seem to be perfectly content with staying right where you are. The throbbing in your hand returned and you couldn’t help but cradle it against your chest.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks, gently pulling your hand to him.
You nod. “I didn’t get the chance to take my medication earlier.”
He carefully unwraps the bandage, mindful not to hurt you as he did so. You couldn’t help but stare at him, marvelling at the gentle manner he handles you. Nothing about him was straight forward. There’s nothing about him that isn’t what it seems. A bounty hunter; armoured and ready to fight and kill, travels with a woman and a child. Treats them with care and respect and…
Maker, he really is a walking contradiction. You resist smiling.
He stands up and goes to rummage through your bag, which is where he found your pain medication. You watch as he goes somewhere out of your line of sight and returns not long later with a glass of water. He assumes his previous position, kneeling before you and holds out the glass.
“Here. Drink.” You do so without complaint, adding the pills as well. Meanwhile, the Mandalorian takes your hand and observes it. “Looks a lot better than it did yesterday. Clench your hand for me.” You form your hand into a fist. “Does it hurt?”
“Only a little.” You put the glass down next to you as he rubs circles on your knuckles.
You liked the feeling, like the softness of his touch. You wondered, however, if the calming effect sunk into his heart as it did in yours. You wonder if the memory of you clings to his mind when you’re absent and far from his reach.
“Good to hear.” he says. “We’ll restock on bacta at our next destination.”
You quietly nod, finally relaxing after this entire ordeal. Suddenly, you felt so drained. If this is what it feels like to crash after hours of riding the high of some illegal spice, then you’re sure to never indulge in it.
“Can’t even stand…” you said, looking at his dark visor. “Is that normal?”
“Yes.” He holds out his hand and you don’t hesitate to take it. He pulls you up and bends to wrap his arm around your knees before you could fall. “Come on, let me help you.”
You suppress a squeal as he picks you up and rearranges you until you’re being carried like a bride. Your arm drapes over his shoulder and you press your temple against the cool metal of his Beskar helm, sighing in relief as he moves.
There’s just something so secure about being in his hold. This unshakable safeguard keeping you from harm, from heartbreak, from everything. It is something you’ve felt with no one else but him. Only him. You don’t think anything can touch you when you are in the arms of the Mandalorian and you certainly don’t mind how good that feels.
He brings you to his cot and places you on the edge of it. “Sleep in here.”
“But this is your bed.” you pointed out, confused.
“It’s warmer than yours.” he simply states, his hand pressing against your shoulder. “Lie down.”
You push back, placing your hand on his. He stops to observe as you hold it in both of your own hands. “Will you stay with me?”
A plea. Filled to the brim with insecurity. Fear. It was foolish of you to let down the walls that keep you safe from the pain of rejection. Walls you’ve learned to out up on Nevarro when you were trapped in that vicious cycle of abuse and neglect.
The Mandalorian shifts only slightly, his gaze lowering to focus on your joint hands. A beat passes and he finally breaks the silence with an inquiry, “Are you sure you want me to?”
That wasn’t a no, your heart kicks up a notch when you realize this.
“O–only if you want to.” you quickly respond, your eyes shifting to your hands. You let go, frightened of his reaction. “If I’m making you too uncomfortable–”
He gently grasps your hands in his, cutting you off. You swear almost choke on your words.
“You’re not.” he shakes his head, and grants a soft confession, “Being close to you never makes me uncomfortable.”
In fact, he seems to lean into your proximity every time you give him the chance.
But he does the unexpected. Your eyes widen when he takes off his pauldron. Then the other. He slides off both of his gloves and his utility belt comes off next, along with the bullets strapped to his chest. The thigh guards followed them. You recall Sorgan. How he took his time taking off his armour so he could lay next to you.
Watching him felt intimate. An act he usually does alone, now with an audience. He didn’t seem bothered by your keen eyes. It dawns on you. That because his Beskar alone is so valuable, he’s forced to keep it on more often than not. That he probably never does this with anyone because he’d be–
Your eyes widen.
–he’d be vulnerable.
He’s choosing to be vulnerable with you.
He reached for whatever it was holding the chest plate up and you intervened.
“C–can I–” you struggled to catch your breath, blinking rapidly. “Can I help?”
His silence held you frighteningly still. There was a brief moment of contemplation on his part and you wondered what his thoughts were. Then he gave you his answer with a slow nod.
He steps closer until your knees brush against his stomach. You glanced down, gulping before you cautiously parted your legs for him to step in between that space. You don’t think about the implication of that particular move. Slowly, as you’re vividly aware of the heat of his body radiating into your soul, you reach up to help him take off his chest plate. Your fingers gently trace the blackened source mark right near the center.
He’d been shot, a voice whispers at the back of your mind. You don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he wasn’t a Mandalorian. He could’ve been seriously hurt… or worse. You shiver at the thought and continue with the task.
You try to ignore the way he breathes as you fiddle with the clasps. You think of nothing else as you inhale his scent with each shaky breath. Once it comes off, he helps you put it aside. Then he allows you to pull off the Beskar on his wrists, taking the gloves along with them. And each time you do, your fingers gently run across his rough palms. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a smile when they twitch under your stroke.
And you think you swallow thickly when he steps away to take off his boots and his cape. He is left in only his helmet. “I’m going to take a shower first, then come lay down with you.”
“Okay.” you nod, hoping he doesn’t take too long.
As he leaves you be, you slide off the bunk to pick up his armour from where he left it. Each piece held a weight that made you wonder how one man can carry all this on a regular basis. But you were grateful for its solidity, especially the chestplate.
You traced the scorch mark on it. That definitely looked like it could’ve pierced through skin and bone. The outcome of not having armour as indestructible as this is not something you want to imagine.
For the better half of those few minutes, you neatly place the armour and the cape that he had left behind in a corner so it doesn’t get in the way. You cradle your hand as you go to find your mattress, which was exactly where you had left it with your blanket and pillow stacked on top.
You laid the mattress inside the cot. The extra layer makes it softer and more comfortable. As you climb inside, you sit down to fluff the pillows before laying your head on it with a deep sigh. It was only until a while later when a shadow from outside the cot alerted you of the Mandalorian’s presence.
He climbs in, closes the door and lays behind you. And it is only when he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer that you realize that he’s wearing yet another soft cotton shirt. A dark coloured one like the one you were still wearing.
You relish in his warmth, in the solid expanse of his chest against your back. The weight of his palm presses on your stomach and you struggle to breathe as his thumb rubs circles there. His helmet falls on your shoulder and you feel his chest expand before he releases a sigh. You don’t think anything could get better than this.
You wanted to stay like this. Forever, if possible. But you know it’s not. After tonight, you know that these fleeting moments have to be cherished because they are worth everything.
“How many more of them do you think are going to come after us?” you ask in the darkness.
“Doesn’t matter.” his response came after a short silence, you feel his fingers grip the fabric of your shift as his tone lowers, “I will kill every last one of them if they hurt you.”
You allow the words to seep into your veins. You’re not sure why the thought of the Mandalorian killing people on your behalf makes you so… elated… But you accept it.
“He didn’t want to hurt me.” He knows that you were talking about Toro. “He just wanted to take us back to Nevarro.”
It seems everyone does. First Saros, now Toro. Although he wasn’t the worst of them, you can’t help but wonder; Who would be next to die on account of you? Because of a few extra credits in their pockets. You don’t consider yourself to be particularly valuable to anyone.
Except maybe your father. But you know that’s only because you’re his illegitimate bargaining chip. So if he were to put your name out there, there’s no doubt that someone would take you and use you as leverage against him. Brexlee can find some other poor girl to torture and even he doesn’t have that kind of money to entice any decent bounty hunter to track you down. In all honesty, you can’t think of anyone else who would want, so badly, to bring you back to that awful place.
It’s all so complicated, your head spins when you even attempt to find a solution.
 You sigh deeply, closing your eyes. “Honestly, I would’ve rather have him shoot me in the head.”
He was silent. For a while, you listen to his steady breathing and think he might have fallen asleep. But his hand shifts to gently squeeze your hip. Without the glove, the heat of his palm seeps thoroughly into your skin and makes you melt against him.
“I would’ve never let him take you back there.” he confesses with a soft conviction. “If I had to do it all again, I’d still kill him.”
You shift your body until you turn to face him. Even though you couldn’t see him in the darkness, you smile. “Are you going to kill everyone else then?”
“If they’re stupid enough to try and take you away from me.”
You laugh, nearly blindsighted his bold declaration. “Mando, you’re insane.”
Only for you, he wants to say.
He hummed deeply when your hands reached for his chest and you pressed yourself against him, nestling your face into his neck. He hears the way you inhale as he rubs circles between your shoulder blades. Had he known you’d be this affectionate, he would’ve done this more often.
“Mando–” your voice slurs as sleep slowly creeps up on you.
“Rest, Cyare…” he softly speaks. “Close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”
“What does…” you bite the insides of your cheeks to stifle a yawn. “What does it… mean…” your eyes droop when you whisper, “Cyare…”
Din knows your eyes are now closed. He can’t help but listen to your unrushed breaths. He relished your vulnerability, the ease that drapes your shoulders when you lie next to him. Your body is curled into his, kept safe from the cold air of the ship, from all harm. Right where you belong.
He’s wanted this for so long. To have you next to him. With him. The longing in his chest now sated because for as long as he could remember, you were all he could ever want. And that wasn’t just because you were wearing his clothes. You have no idea how much he wants to just spill his guts and tell you everything, to show you just how much he would do to be yours.
He wants to be yours, if you’ll allow it. He wants you to be his. Every fibre of his being screams for your presence, for your voice, for your touch. Everything about you bends his will and cracks him wide open faster than any  weapon could cut through his armour. He wants you to let him treasure every part of you; every word, every laugh, every tear, every curve, every inch of your skin.
“Beloved.” He gently whispered back. But sleep had already claimed you. He traces his knuckles on your cheek. “My beloved…”
Something in his chest furls and warms at how sweet you are to him. For him. It’s the fact that you feel safe with him. It’s how you seek solace in his arms and nowhere else in the goddamn universe. You’re never this relaxed around anyone else, outside the expanse of the Razer Crest. The way your eyes, wide and glassy, instantly melt and soften when you see him. How your breath shudders and the deep sated relief that escapes your lungs when his arms surround you, barring any danger from reaching you. It’s like.. He becomes the center of your universe.
Maker, he likes that. He likes that you see beyond the monster that everyone else fears. He’s floored by how you seek the man beyond the Beskar. You’ve always sought him out since the day you met him.
He hears the hiss in the quiet space of the cot. His helmet comes off, finally, because he couldn’t bear to wait another day to do this, he presses his lips to your forehead and inhales deeply. He ties his soul further into yours and makes no plans to leave.
Because he would rather spend an eternity with his whole being tied to you, than spend another day away from you.
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Masterlist
Chapter Seven, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten
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