#can I walk to midtown????

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part two // crullers & constants

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 4.2k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker

Peter Pan Donuts is a sacred place. 

Or, rather, it was a sacred place—and walking back into the shop now felt awfully strange. 

Back when you and Peter first started high school, it had become a tradition to end every Friday with one of the renowned pastry shop’s legendary frosted crullers. You considered it a well-deserved reward for surviving another week of more drama than either of you could stomach, thankful that the weekend was finally upon you and that you could finally breathe without inhaling the reek of the unwashed teenage boys that lined the halls of Midtown. 

Peter Pan’s quickly became a haven. A safe place where the two of you could tuck yourselves away at the end of the bar, talking for hours about the teachers you hated and the bullies you hoped would fall from the face of the Earth. There was nothing that you couldn’t talk about, no secrets kept between you and Peter. 

Or, at least, none that mattered. 

But things changed as time passed, as they so often do. 

It started with the inclusion of Ned. You didn’t particularly mind his presence, even if the conversations had begun to shift towards less intimate topics, focusing instead on movies that you all wanted to see or upcoming video games that you would all try to play. 

Then came the inclusion of Mj a few months later, after she landed a job at the shop. That was when everything truly changed—when it was no longer you and Peter tucked away at the bar, but you and Ned, left to pick at your food and watch as Peter leaned across the front counter and talked to Mj over her shift. 

After a few months of testing every donut on the menu with Ned, you stopped going altogether. 

And Peter never even asked why. 

“I was surprised to see you texted me,” you quip as you slid onto the free barstool, “what happened to not wanting me to get involved?” 

Peter exhales sharply through his nose, and even though his eyes are glued to his phone, you can tell that he was already regretting asking you to meet him here. “I already told you that what I want doesn’t matter.” 

And how true that must have been. 

There had been nothing kind about his text to you this morning, although there was nothing inherently rude about it either, you supposed. It was simple—meet me at Peter Pan’s asap, need 2 talk—but you could almost sense the begrudging nature with which he had typed it. And, sitting next to him now, you could almost feel it, too. 

He didn’t want you here, even if he had been the one to invite you, and you couldn’t help but wonder why he had decided to involve you at all—especially so soon. What had changed in a single night? 

Sitting on the barstool to your left, Parker pops his lips. “Well this is fun. I’m not at all uncomfortable right now.” 

You turned towards him, acknowledging just how different he looked in the civilian clothes that he donned in place of his suit—black jeans that certainly looked worse for wear and an old Ramone’s t-shirt that you immediately recognized as yours. Oversized on you, the short sleeves clung rather tightly to his well-muscled arms. Did he seriously go through your stuff?! 

 “Why are you even here?” You ask, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. You weren’t angry that he had gone sifting through the armoire in the spare bedroom, especially since he couldn’t just parade around as Spider-Man all of the time. But he could’ve at least asked. “Shouldn’t one of you be busy patrolling?” 

It was hard to tell if the offense on his face was real or feigned, but you didn’t care much either way. “Peter wanted answers about my world, I wanted food,” he shrugs, gesturing at the crème-filled donut in front of him. “And Peter 2’s handling patrol.” 

Peter 2—you had almost forgotten about him, the version of Peter that hadn’t wanted to come with Ned and Mj to your apartment last night. As far as you could tell when you woke up this morning, he hadn’t shown up in the middle of the night, either—no trace of Parker or anyone else when you had finally stumbled out of your room to get ready after reading the text from Peter. 

You didn’t figure it was really your business where the mystery Peter was, but you were a little surprised to hear that he was still out patrolling. Was he not exhausted?  

“Ametaur move getting crème-filled,” you tell him, ignoring everything he said. “Should’ve gone with the frosted vanilla cruller, it’s way better.” 

“No way,” he gapes, grabbing the half-eaten pastry and shaking it for emphasis as he said, “this is god-tier, alright? No way anything’s topping it.” 

The expression on his face was actually hilarious, his brown doe eyes alight with pure euphoria as he took another bite of the donut. An exaggerated moan slipped his lips, coated with bits of sugar and crème. It was hard not to laugh at him, especially when you knew that was probably his goal—to combat the evident tension between you and Peter. 

Chuckling, you lift your hands in mock defense. “Suit yourself, Parker. But if you ever wanna experience true pleasure, then you know what to order.” 

Parker looks as if he's about to continue his borderline-lustful tangent about the donut, but Peter spoke up instead, his attention snagging on the name you used. 

“Parker?” He echoes in disbelief, letting his phone clatter against the bar. 

Peter’s sudden resurgence to the real world left Parker silent, sinking back against his stool and taking another bite. 

“What?” Your brow arches, your voice laced with incredulity. “Did you really think I’d keep calling him Peter 2? No offense to Ned, but everything about that feels stupid.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, coupled with a subtle shake of his head that indicates he doesn't care nearly enough to have this conversation right now. 

You didn’t care much either, and so you steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “So what is this grand plan of yours?” You ask with a somewhat sarcastic lilt. “And where do I fit into it?” 

Another huff of breath escaped his nostrils. “We don’t even have a plan. Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “But I tried talking to Doctor Strange last night, to see if he had some sort of magical spell or something that would let us go back and fix all of this.” 

Your lips press together, nibbling on the skin and pretending you didn’t notice the hidden meaning behind his words. He hadn’t just gone to Doctor Strange to find a way to get rid of the villains now lurking in your world, because if he had, then he wouldn’t have gone specifically seeking out a spell that would let him go back—not just to stop the villains from ever coming here, but to save May, too. 

“Did he?” 

Peter reached for his cup of iced coffee, if only to occupy his now-fidgeting fingers. “No,” he murmurs, the sound of sloshing ice nearly overpowering him as he swirled the cup. “He didn’t.” 

You frown at the tinge of disappointment that snuck through his otherwise even tone, your chest aching. You had to fight against the urge to say I’m sorry, remembering what he had said to you last night—he didn’t want your apologies, nor did he seem to want anyone else's. 

In truth, you weren’t sure what Peter wanted; or what you could do to help him. 

“Well did he have anything useful?” 

He shook his head, lifting the cup to his mouth. “Define useful,” he scoffed, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. He took a sip of his drink, his nose scrunching as soon as the coffee hit his tongue—too bitter. 

Despite the coffee’s pale color that indicated it was more cream than coffee, you weren’t surprised that it was still too strong for him. Peter had never truly developed a taste for coffee, only pursuing a caffeine addiction for the sake of combating the exhaustion that came with being Spider-Man. That didn’t mean he had ever grown to like it though, masking the taste with copious amounts of sugar and syrups. 

“Something that will keep multiversal villains from tearing our world apart?” You venture half-heartedly, guided by pure instinct and muscle memory as you reached over to take his cup from him, snagging a few packs of sugar from the plastic canister on the bar to0. 

“He has a theory,” Peter gives you a tight-lipped smile, born of pure frustration. 

“A theory? And he expects us to save the world with this theory?” You ask, a bit more derisive than you would have been if Doctor Strange were around to hear. 

Peter scoots closer to you, his voice purposefully low. “Do you remember when I told you about him using the Time Stone before Mr. Stark died? To look through all the different outcomes with Thanos?” 

Ripping open the sugar packets and dumping them in his cup, you managed to mask a wince at the mention of Peter’s dead mentor. You only nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you tried for any sort of verbal affirmation. 

“Well… when he did that, he thinks that he might have actually seen through the multiverse—he just didn’t know for sure at the time.” 

Your forehead creased as you popped the lid back onto his cup, sliding it back towards him. Given his advantage of Spidey-sense, he easily caught it before it could slide too far and end up on the floor—which is what would have definitely happened pre-Spider bite. 

“And you don’t consider that to be useful to our current situation?” 

“No. I don’t.” Peter answers firmly. “Because at the center of it all—in every universe the Stone showed him—all he saw was you.” 

You nearly laugh, your lips curving as you rose a brow at him. “Me?” 

Peter gave a nod as he took another sip of his drink. This time, his nose didn’t scrunch. 

“But it’s been almost a year since the Avengers took down Thanos,” you reminded him, your stunned amusement beginning to fade into confusion. “If he saw.. Me, when he used the Stone, then why didn’t he say anything until now?” 

By no means would you consider yourself to be close with New York’s resident Sorcerer, and so you wouldn’t have expected him to come to you with this knowledge. But Peter—he knew Peter, and he knew that you were Peter’s best friend, and so it didn’t make any sense to you why Doctor Strange chose to wait until now to mention what the Stone had shown him. 

Given the aggravated expression Peter wore, it was clear that he was thinking the same. “I don’t know, and trying to get answers out of Doctor Strange that he clearly doesn’t want to give is like pulling teeth.” 

“But what does that mean?” You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing further, concern starting to bubble up inside of you. Regardless of his answer—if he had one—you had a feeling you wouldn’t like it. “I don’t get how I’m at the center of every universe.” 

Peter blew out a breath, his fingers going back to tapping against the sides of his plastic cup. “Alright, so there are probably well-over a hundred thousand different parallel universes, okay? Some of them are probably super similar to ours, and then there are others that are the complete opposite.” 

“O-kay,” you drone, your brows drawing together. You felt the start of a headache coming on as you prepared yourself for the confusing science-talk that was surely about to start pouring out of his mouth. 

Perhaps noticing your pained expression, Peter tries to find a way to simplify whatever explanation he was about to use. “Try and look at it like this,” he started, “think of the multiverse as some giant, cosmic loom, alright? Now imagine that each thread on the loom signifies a person. As the loom weaves all of these different threads together, different decisions get made and different actions are taken—and with every choice, a new thread is spun, branching off and creating a variation of the original tapestry.” 

“So it’s like you and Parker, right?” You interrupt him, rubbing at your temples. “Same thread, different reality?” 

“Exactly! And, technically speaking, that’s how it’s supposed to be. As the loom weaves and alters reality, each thread continuously evolves into something different.” He paused, his fingers finally falling still. “But now imagine that—in the center of all of these branching tapestries—there exists one thread, entirely unbroken and unaltered by this ever-weaving tapestry of existence, okay? A glitch in the cosmic fabric, a constant that’s woven into infinite realities and yet, somehow, remains fundamentally unchanged. How does that work?” 

You couldn’t ignore the sense of dread creeping up your spine, nor could you escape the slight wobble in your voice as you said, “It doesn’t sound like it should.” 

“You’re right, it shouldn’t work.” Peter confirmed, his expression nearly impossible to read. “But according to Doctor Strange, you are that thread. A constant anomaly that defies every potential law of the multiverse.” 

Nausea bubbled in your gut. God, you did not want to deal with this right now! 

“And let me guess,” a bitter laugh follows your words, “that’s as much information as he was willing to give, wasn’t it?” 

“Yep,” Peter pops his lips, leaning back into his stool. His brows raise slightly in a silent I told you so before he says, “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to be involved, right? Now you’re at the center of everything-” 

“I said I wanted to help you,” you correct him sharply. “Not that I wanted to be at the center of Doctor Strange’s weird Time Stones fantasies!” 

He only shrugs, barely acknowledging the dirty look you gave him as he plucks his phone off of the counter, clicking on a notification. “Same thing, isn’t it? Either way, you get what you want.” 

“What I want?” You echoed, your mouth hung open in disbelief. 

“Doctor Strange seems to think that whatever is wrong with you might help us solve all of this. That you might be connected to the multiverse somehow, or that you’re at least immune to it. So yeah, you get what you want. You get to help,” he spat the word out like an insult, too focused on typing something to even notice how rude he sounded. 

If it weren’t for the feeling that stomach acid was about to come crawling up your throat, then you might have taken some time to unpack the bitterness in his tone or be hurt by the claim that something was wrong with you—but you didn’t. Even if you had, you weren’t sure that it would have gotten you anywhere. 

You weren’t stupid. Peter was wielding his insolence like a shield, purposefully trying to hurt you as an effort to keep you at arms length—and, if you had to guess, Mj and Ned were probably receiving the same treatment right now. 

“Well this isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help,” you admitted, one hand going to rest against your cramping stomach. At least the throbbing in your temples had died down… 

Peter only shrugged at you, shoving his phone in his back pocket and rising to his feet. “Too bad,” he told you, offering a smile that most definitely wasn’t genuine. “I’ve gotta go, but make him walk you home, alright? I’ll text you if I hear anything else from Doctor Strange.” 

Parker frowned beside you, and whether it was because Peter was speaking about him like he wasn’t here or because of his attitude in general, you couldn’t tell. 

“Whoa, hold up! You didn’t even tell me what your plan is until you hear from him!” You argue, reaching for his wrist to keep him from walking past you until he answered. 

He pulls his hand back from your grip, but not before your stare snags on the reddish hue that stains his nails—blood. Noticing it only served to make you feel sicker, and to make your concern for Peter grow larger. Was he really still walking around with May’s blood caked under his nails? Has he rested at all since last night? 

“Same plan as always,” he told you, your eyes snapping up to meet his, suddenly noticing how rimmed with exhaustion they were. “Stop the bad guys.” 

He didn’t leave any time for protests or further questions before turning his back to you and heading straight for the exit. When the little bell on the door chimed as he shoved his way back out onto the streets, you couldn’t stop the worried sigh that escaped your lips. 

Peter was an Avenger by every right. He had battled alongside a Norse God and helped take down a literal Titan, and so knew that you shouldn’t have any reason to doubt his capability when it came to taking down whatever villains had crossed into your world. 

But it wasn’t that you doubted his ability to survive against them, or even his ability to stop them—you were worried about whether he could handle the weight of it all. 

The weight of him placing yet another thing on his shoulders. Another villain, another fight, another burden, another chance to lose someone. 

Thinking of that, it suddenly dawned on you that maybe Mj and Ned weren’t getting the same treatment as you. Maybe you were getting the worst of it, if only because now whatever connection you had to the multiverse was just another weight he thought he had to bear, another person he had to worry about protecting. 

Guilt flooded your veins, and even as you tried to remind yourself that you hadn’t caused this, you still couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that it was somehow your fault anyway. 

“Y’know, I get that this probably isn’t the right time for this,” Parker starts. When you look at him, your attention immediately snags on the dozen donuts that he had ordered while you were talking to Peter. “But I think it’s so cool that you guys have magic in your world!” 

He takes another bite of the donut in his hand, powdered sugar falling from his lips as he says, “And these donuts! It’s a tough call, but they might be even better than magic!” 

You didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell if he was intentionally trying to lighten the mood or if it was just incidental, but it worked all the same. Laughter poured from your mouth, and it wasn’t until it died down that he said anything else. 

“Sooo… That was tense, wasn’t it? Like, it wasn’t just me, right?” 

You groan, propping your elbows against the counter and placing your cheeks in your palms. “Was it that noticeable?” 

Parker snorts a laugh, stretching an arm past you to reach for Peter’s abandoned coffee. “Oh, yeah. It’s actually painful to be in a room with you two.” 

His playful tone made it clear that it was just a joke, but it still made you feel bad. You already didn’t like how hostile things felt between you and Peter, even if it was only one-sided, and to know that others felt it too just made it that much worse. 

“Things are just.. Difficult, right now.” You tell him, choosing your words carefully. 

“So it hasn’t always been like that with you guys?” He asks, and the delicate arch of his brow made it seem as though he were shocked by the possibility that things had ever been civil between you and Peter. 

There was a chance that you had misread his expression though, as it was very quickly wiped away once he took a sip of Peter’s half-drank coffee, gagging as soon as it hit his tongue. “Holy shi-” he started coughing, cutting off the vulgarities that threatened to spill out. “How does he drink this?!” Parker yelped as soon as he could take a full breath, looking utterly disgusted as he shoved the cup back across the bar. “It’s literally just liquid sugar!” 

You found it hard to stifle your amusement at his suffering, even as he shot you a teasing scowl for it. “No,” you answer his previous question, trying to ignore his melodramatic display, “believe it or not, things between us actually used to be really… I don’t know—easy, I guess.” 

Parker was still smacking his lips to try and rid himself of the cloying aftertaste. “What changed?” 

In retrospect, you realized that it probably would have been smarter for you to bite your tongue. To offer him some cheap, cop-out excuse rather than tell him the truth. After all, you already had experience in hiding from the truth and it wasn’t like you really knew Parker, and so lying to him shouldn’t have been a hard task. 

Yet, for some reason, you told him the truth anyway. 

“Mj happened.” 

Parker’s brows furrows. “The girl from last night, right?” 

“Yep. That’s the one.” 

“Y’know, I don’t really like her all that much,” his words were spoken like a balm, seeking to ease the dejected look etched upon your face, but tinged with enough playful sarcasm for you to know he didn’t actually mean them. “She threw a bread roll at me. A few of them, actually.” 

It was hard not to laugh at the thought considering that it was such an Mj thing to do. “Sounds about right,” you crack a smile, although you don't feel particularly happy. “She’s always been slow to trust, especially complete strangers.” 

In an odd sort of way, the statement felt like a lie. Not because it actually wasn’t true—because Mj was wary of strangers—but because Parker didn’t quite feel like a stranger in your mind. While last night had been a bit awkward, you now felt like talking to him was effortless, each sentence rolling off your tongue with unnatural ease. 

“But she trusts you?” Parker asks, picking a crumb off another one of the pastries and popping it into his mouth. 

You sucked in a breath. 

“I don’t know,” you answer him, with a bit more honesty than you're comfortable with. “I mean, I know that she used to trust me. But now… I’m not even sure if she likes me anymore.” 

His brow snapped up. “What changed?” 

Suddenly the truth no longer felt so easy, and you found yourself wishing that you could change the subject altogether. You didn’t want to talk about this—especially not with him, some boy that you had known for less than twenty-four hours. 

But you had backed yourself into a corner, and so in an effort to try and satiate whatever interest he had developed in the story you had told, you settled on offering a vague half-truth. 

“She started dating Peter,” you tell him simply, putting effort into looking disinterested. “They got together a few months ago and things just… It just got weird, y’know? It’s always awkward when two of your friends get together, I guess. Creates too much drama.” 

“Yeah, for sure,” Parker hums, agreeing with you. “Especially when you have feelings for him, right?” 

An incomprehensible noise escaped your throat, best categorized as something between a laugh and a cough. Your mouth fell open to try and defend yourself, to try and deny his claim—but he didn’t even give you a chance. 

“Oh c’mon!” Parker groans, grinning when he notices the now rosy complexion of your cheeks. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? I mean, let’s be real here, alright? That whole sugar thing earlier?” He jutted a finger towards Peter’s abandoned iced coffee, “Was a dead giveaway.” 

“You’re insane,” You declare, shaking your head and masking your embarrassment with uncomfortable laughter. “I don’t have feelings for Peter—and even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! Regardless of what it’s done to our friendship, Mj is literally perfect for him and-” 

“I think it’s cute,” he interrupts, a delicate smile gracing his lips. Noticing the way your brows furrow, he elaborated, “How much you care about him. And how much you care about her, too, since you’re so willing to pretend like you don’t like him.” 

“I’m not pretending-” 

Parker jokingly cut his eyes. “Yeah, sureee.” 

Blowing a frustrated breath, you push yourself up from the barstool. “Alright, I think it’s time to go home.” You tell him, far too flustered to try and come up with a good defense to his teasing. “You can take the rest of your donuts to go, Bug-boy.” 

There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the taunting nickname fell from your lips, and he almost felt as though his heart had stopped dead in his chest. 

“Fine,” Parker yields, rising to his feet and snagging the box of donuts from the bar. “But I really hope that you have your wallet—cause I definitely don’t have a way to pay for these.” He flashed a crooked smile before continuing, “Or we can just run really fast and hope they don’t call the police on us for stealing pastries.” 

“I can’t imagine that robbery would be very good for your reputation as a hero,” you chide sarcastically, your own lips curling into a half-smile, “so I’ll pay—but only if you give me every cruller in that box. Deal?” 

Parker spares a quick glance down at the dozen box of donuts in his hands. Half of them were already gone, but through the small cellophane window he could see that there were three frosted crullers left. “Deal.”

series masterlist

a/n - for those who read IY before the rewrite, you may already be able to note some rather major changes going on lmao. i genuinely can't describe how much i actually enjoy rewriting this story, as i'm finally able to collect my thoughts enough to write the plot the way i originally wanted to.

as always, please leave any feedback, opinions, etc.! any and all comments/reblogs definitely encourage me to write/edit faster! and, if you'd like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

part three, titled "spitfire", to be released april 15th

[angelfrombeneth]

THE NOT SO SECRET, SECRET - P . PARKER

Mature Content Ahead

Peter Parker (Tom) x Stark!Reader

Summary: You and Peter are sneaking around but how secret is your secret?

Warnings: SMUT

You and Peter have been hooking up for a while. Since your dad brought him to the compound you've been around eachother a lot. Your dad still doesn't know about your late night rendezvous with Peter, and you'd like to keep it that way.

You are Tony's eldest daughter. You aren't an avenger and he wanted you to steer clear of that life but you refused to live with Pepper and Morgan because you wanted atleast a bit of action. You're like any teenage girl going to school, having boy problems. You decided to join the cheer squad for Midtown High, considering you train daily with Nat you might aswell put it to good use.

You were one of Tony's prized possessions he held you really close. Daddy's girl if you will. You were extremely smart and he used your mind to his gain with Avenger tasks which you were more than happy to help with. It was a perfect arrangement. It got even more perfect when Peter arrived at the compound 2 years ago. Both of you being the same age, go to the same school, yet you'd never seen him before. The pair of you instantly connected becoming friends at the compound and at school, but then it became more.

You hopped out of the shower, pulling on a cropped tank top over your bare chest with some shorts. You pulled your hair from the shower cap, running your fingers through it as you smiled.

"The Avengers are back Miss Y/N" FRIDAY filled the room.

"Thanks FRIDAY" You smiled, before grabbing a clip and clipping your hair back in a loose ponytail before skipping down the stairs.

"God I'm exhausted" Thor groaned, throwing himself on the couch.

You reached the bottom of the stairs, turning the corner and leaning against the door frame staring at them all. "Long day?" You chirped.

You watched as Peter's head raised and his eyes shot daggers at you. He scanned your body, continously. You were satisfied with this.

"Y/N, Have you done your homework" Tony emerged from his side office just off the livingroom as he stood, fixing his shirt cuffs.

"Yes, Dad" you groaned.

"Good, that's my little girl" He smiled at you before turning to everyone in the room. "All of you come with me" He stated before walking towards the conference room before halting. "Not you Parker" As he looked at Peter.

The rest of the Avengers piled into the conference room before the door shut.

"Aww, Poor Parker being left out" You cooed, walking over and standing above him as he settled into the couch.

Peter looked up at you, sighing as he reached to touch your thighs, holding the flesh just below your ass. "I can have much more fun out here with you" He smiled.

"I'd love that but, I'm tired" You snickered. You leaned over, giving him a perfect view down your shirt as you pecked his lips softly. "Tah tah!" Before turning around and running off upstairs.

That night, Peter had plenty of food for thought, the way your ass spilled from those tight ass shorts you wore or the way your nipples stayed harder under your tank top. He couldn't help but think about you.

THE NEXT MORNING

"Morning" You smiled, as you walked into the dining room, leaning over Steve as you grabbed a waffle, taking a bite. You stood in your Midtown High cheer uniform, decked in Blue, White and Yellow. Your hair up in a high ponytail as your sleek silver rectangle reading glasses rested upon your nose.

"Morning Y/N, You got cheer today?" Steve smiled as he held your waist as you leaned against him.

"Yep!" You popped the 'P' as you smiled at him, "You coming to class Peter" You smiled up at him.

His eyes were already trained on you, burning through your clothes as if he was trying to see you without them.

"Yes- Of course" He stumbled over his words.

"God Parker, that reminds me. You whine like a bitch" Bucky scoffed.

"What-" He looked to Bucky confused.

"I've never know someone to moan like a bitch like you do" Bucky laughed, earning a snicker from Thor and Sam.

"Aww Bucky leave him alone" Nat scolded him.

"Yeah! And besides, what's wrong with that Buck? I love a whiney man" You smirked, watching as Peter choked on his water. Everyone laughed as Peter grew redder in the face "Anyway, catch up Parker. Im not waiting for you!" You cheered before walking out.

Peter instantly scrambled behind you, grabbing his bag and hoodie before darting out the door after you.

"Ten bucks, they'll hook up" Nat spoke.

"20, they already are hooking up" Buck, leaned back in his chair smirking.

"You think? He follows her like a lost puppy" Sam started.

"Even more so, I'm seeing it" Thor thought.

"We'll see" Nat raises her mug smiling to Bucky.

"Little Stark definitely has him on a leash" Sam laughs.

THAT EVENING

You sighed, walking back into the compound, dropping you bag on the floor by the door to the kitchen as you walked over to the fridge.

"Rough day?" You heard, as you bent down to grab a waterbottle from the bottom draw of the fridge. You turned around to see Peter leaning against the door frame in loose joggers and a compression shirt.

You hummed as you twisted the cap off the waterbottle, taking a sip as Peter made his way over to you.

"Missed you today, you were so busy with cheer I didn't see you" He huffed, placing a hand on your waist, his other hand moving the hair from your ear as he peppered kisses down your neck.

You smiled, placing the water bottle down on the counter as you turned to look at Peter, your hand instantly lost within his locks. You sighed, your hand dropping to the back of his neck as you pulled him towards you, your lips landing upon his.

This kiss was slow and soft, your lips moving against one another's as his hands slid down to your ass, kneading at it as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You hummed, pulling him closer, both your arms wrapping around his neck as your tongue toyed with his, pulling him as close as you could as the pair of you pratically exchanged DNA.

Peter pulled away, panting softly as he smirked as you, the pair of your lips, slightly red and swollen. "Upstairs?" He quirked his eyebrow as you smirked nodding before taking his hand and leading him up to his room.

"We can't do it in my room, someone will tell my dad" You whispered walking down the hall past a few avengers bedrooms.

You made it to Peter's room. He grabbed your waist yet again crashing his lips onto yours as you sighed. His hands tightly on your hip as the kiss deepened. His lips, softly and flush against yours as his tongue subtly slipped in and out.

You leaned back against his door, feeling for the handle as you pushed it open, the pair of you stumbling in the room before Peter slammed it shut with his foot.

Breaking away as you kicked off your shoes and climbed onto his bed, he stood striking down at you.

"FRIDAY, Lock the door. No one can come in" He smirked.

"Door is locked Mr Parker" FRIDAY chimed back.

"All to myself" He smirked, peeling his shirt off and dropping his joggers as he dove ontop of you, kissing you again as his hands found themselves all over your body.

You giggle, your lips against his as you kiss him back before he pulls away, his lips against your neck, sucking at the skin as you sighed, your hands running over his bare back.

He pulled away for a moment, pulling your cheer dress over your head and throwing it across the room, leaving you in just your underwear.

"Didn't know you were that needy Parker" you laughed, his hands instantly on your bra as he yanked it down, his hands kneading at your breasts.

"I'm going to make you feel so good" He smirked, his hands reaching you unclasp your bra before tossing it aside as his mouth latched onto one of your breasts.

You gasped, biting your lip as his hands held your waist as you manurved to straddle him as he leaned against the headboard.

You sat up, yanking his boxers down to his knees as his cock sprung out and hit his stomach as you smirked. You grabbed a condom from his drawer, ripping it open abs sliding it down his length as you smirked. His eyes trained on you as his mouth was still full of your breast.

"Gunna ride you" You hummed, your hand sliding up his length as you sighed, pulling your panties aside as you pumped him a few times before slowly settling yourself down on his cock. Gasping for a moment as he penetrated through.

"So fucking hot" Peter mumbled, his hands on your boobs, squeezing them as he peered at you.

Your hips began to rock back and forth, rolling down against him as you hummed, the feeling of him curving up into you, drove you insane.

You hummed, biting your lower lip holding a pout as you tried to control yourself against the pleasure. Peter's mouth suctioned onto your breast, as his hand kneaded the other as you continued to rock your hips back and forth.

"You are such a boob guy" You let out a soft chuckle, your hand caressing through his hair as you sighed, swivelling your hips further against Peter.

A soft pop sounded the room as his mouth withdrew from your skin. "Mhm- How can I not be" He pecked your lips softly, as he shimmied back, leaning back against the headboard, spreading your legs with his as he began to thrust up into you.

"Ah!-" You yelped out, the thrusts throwing your body forward against his, your hands slithered up to grab the headboard as you attempted to steady your breaths between thrusts. "Nghh- there.. please-" You pleaded as hus hands gripped your hips tighter as he thrusted harder into you.

"Good girl-" He hummed, pushing up with his calfs, the position changed as you fell back against the foot of the bed, your back against the sheets as Peter got ontop of you, your legs clamped around his waist as his lips Instantly attached to your neck, sucking the skin harshly as his hips buckled into yours.

"Oh my god!-" You gasped, clawing at his back as you yanked his hair his eyes connecting with yours as you pulled him into a deep kiss. The pair of your lips locked messily, your tongues darting against one another as his pace became consistent.

You'd break away and take breaths as you yelped each time Peter pulled out and thrusted in once again- the feeling was amazing.

Your hand slid up to his neck, as you applied slight pressure as his eyes rolled back slightly and his pace sped up.

"Nghh- You like that- you like when I do this Pete?" You gasped, your hand toying with the grip on his neck as he pistoned faster into you- your voice cracking with moans as he continued.

A soft whine left his lips as he continued to thrust, a smile upon your lips at his sounds.

"M-mhm close" He groaned.

You placed a hand on his chest, signalling him to slow down as you slowly climbed out from under him as you smiled, getting onto all fours.

"I want you to cum in me Pete.." You smile back at him.

Peter quickly kneeled, gripping your ass as he slapped it, yanking the condom off his cock tying it n dropping it into his bedside bin- before rubbing his tip against your slit as you hummed.

"Is it safe to" His touch was soft against you.

"Shut up, I don't care" You pouted looking back at him.

With that he bottomed out, grasping your hips harsh as his bare cock thrusted into you- A whine behind you as he could feel every. single. inch.

"You've been such a good boy, I'd treat you, now fill me up" You leaned back against his chest, your hand on his cheek as you pecked his lips.

His hand pushed you back down into all fours as he thrusted into you.

Your back arches as you hummed, his pelvis thrusting into you as your eyes closed, gripping the sheets as you took it all in.

"Doing so good f'me" Peter mumbled from behind you, kissing your shoulder as he leaned over you, hand caged around your waist as he continued to thrust into you like a rabbit in heat.

You nodded as you sighed, your head hanging forward as he continued to thrust. Your body growing slightly tired as you whined, letting put a soft whine with each thrust.

"Faster.." You sighed, turning back and looking at Peter.

A wide smirk, spread across his face as he lifted you up to lean back against his chest, your lip between your teeth as you reached back, wrapping your arms round the back of his head.

"Such a good girl for me... If only everyone know how much of a good girl you were" He kissed your cheek, his hands snaking around your found as he gripped your tits. Peter was definitely a tit guy, every chance he could, he'd be holding them.

His lips on your neck, as he began to nip at the skin as his pace began to pick up. You croaked out a squeak as your body recoiled against the thrusts at first, soft hums leaving your lips as he'd thrust in and out of you.

You stayed like that for a while, both in such an intimate position but that was till Peter couldn't take it anymore. His hand harshly pushing you back down onto all fours as he grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he pummelled into you.

"FUCK- mhmphh!-" You screamed, throwing your face forward into his pillow, muffling any noises that came from you as he thrusted. Your ass slapping against his skin as he sped up. Soft groans leaving his lips as he was chasing his high. You were already so close, you were just waiting for him- but you don't think you could last much longer.

"Yes- Fuck.. Yes! I'm cumming-" Peter whined, his hand thrown over his face as his thrusts became sloppy as he bottomed out, thrusting harshly once more before pouring his load into you.

You also, releasing at the same time, letting out a loud screech at you fisted the sheets as you grit your teeth.

The pair of you panting heavily as Peter slowly pulled out, groaning as he collected any escaping and thrusted it back into you a few times.

"Mhpmh-" You whined slightly as he did so.

"Sorry" He laughed, pulling away as he layed next to you, scooping you up and pulling you into his side.

You smiled, pecking his lips softly before laying your head on his chest.

"That fucking uniform does something to me, I was thinking about you all day" He laughed, as you rolled your eyes chuckling.

The pair of you stayed there for a few more minutes before Peter carried you into the shower, where you two yet again couldn't keep your hands off one another.

THE NEXT MORNING

"I'll take that 20 bucks now Nat" Bucky walks into the seating area with a coffee in his hand.

"What?" Nat looked up at him, confused.

"I was up all night because of those kids- I told you they were hooking up" Bucky rubbed his head, groaning.

"I knew it" Sam smirked.

Nat groaned before leaning over and giving Bucky 20 dollars, of which he was very happy about.

"Morning!" You smiled, definitely a pep in your step as you walked into the lounge area wearing just a large tshirt.

They all turned to look at you, shocked at the sudden entrance, but even more shocked when they noticed the marks all over your neck to your legs. Bite marks, hickies and mysterious bruises.

"What?- Is there something on my face?" You reached to rub your face.

"You look like an animal has attacked you-" Sam chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at him.

Peter came behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your cheek softly.

"Look, I know you guys know and my dad isn't here right now, so I'd just appreciate if you all didn't tell him" You smiled, your hand reaching your caress Peter's hair.

"Didn't tell me what?"

You all froze. Especially Peter.

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Random ITSV facts that only I care about probably

Some fun ITSV facts from your local half-hispanic half-black Brooklynite Spider-man fan (me not Miles). ANYWAY

Miles has the number 11215 on his bookbag. That's his zip code.

This means officially, Miles lives in Park Slope. On the edge of Williamsburg.

The movie is spot on with the architecture.

We get a shot of Miles house in ITSV that basically confirms he lives in Park Slope. Not only is the 'real' Visions Academy near Park Slope (the actual school is called Midtown High. His school is a blend of two specialized tech schools in NYC - Midtown and Brooklyn Tech, both of which are near Park Slope).

Miles is 'Slapping'.

Writing your graffiti tag on stickers and putting them around the city is a genuine form of graffiti in NYC called slapping.

It's done on 'eggshell' stickers which are basically impossible to get off, and the goal is to put as is stickers around with your name in the hardest to reach places. If you walk around Manhattan and look closely, you can start seeing sticker tags like this.

One of the most common ones I see is Peru Ana Ana Peru

Here's some of mine though 😌😉

Wythe Avenue is a real Avenue.

I spoke about this in the past but it's just another instance of ITSV and ATSV being SO accurate to Brooklyn that they even get the street names, locations, and stores correct.

The store that Spot robs is a REAL BODEGA.

Anyway these were just things I caught after rewatching the ITSV trailer and I thought they were cool 🥺 BYE

[lotus-n-l0ve]

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐞𝐞

— Peter Parker x Stark!Female Reader

☯ SYNOPSIS : When Peter's girlfriend pays him a little visit in Midtown High School and meets his long time bully, Flash Thompson.

☯ WARNINGS : Au, stark!reader, Peter is barely present in the fic, cursing.

☯ NOTE FROM LOTUS : Hey guys. I have been having such a bad writer's block that I couldn't write anything for past few weeks. I'm writing this to, hopefully, get over my writer's block.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The red Saleen S7 car, parked outside of Midtown High School, gaining curious glances from the students and passersby. You wait, sitting on the driver's seat, with your phone in your hand. The past week you were out of the country with your father so you had not seen him for the past seven days and barely got to talk to him.

So when you came back today, you wanted to give him a surprise visit. You came here, all confident, but now you were doubting your choices. Maybe you should just wait till school ends?

Fuck it. You are Y/N Stark, girl. Since when do you get nervous?

You checked yourself last time in the back mirror. Perfect as always. You throw yourself a flying kiss and put on your favourite pair of glasses. The car door opens with a click and you get down. It was not long before you were walking down the halls of Midtown High, making everyone stop what they were doing and gawk at you.

You chuckle in your mind. Of course you loved being the centre of attention. You were Tony Stark's daughter after all. Now there's one problem. You don't know exactly where Peter is. You look around the hall before your eyes fall on a boy, sitting with two girl on each side.

Without any second thoughts, you walk up to him, "Hey, do you know where Peter Parker is?"

Flash tore his eyes from the beautiful girls in his arm to the legs standing in front of him. He raised his eyes to your face. His gaze so disgusting that made you want to throw up.

"Talking to me, angel?" Flash stood up, abandoning the girls.

You roll your eyes at his pathetic attempt of flirting. At least he got the angel part right.

"I asked if you know where Peter Parker is." You deadpan.

"Peter Parker? Oh! You mean penis Parker. What do you need with him? I'm sure I can help you way more than he can." Flash wiggled his eyebrows at you, giving you a suggestive look.

You just stared at him, completely unimpressed and now angered. This pathetic flirt has the audacity to call your baby penis— wait a damn minute. Penis Parker? Something clicked in your mind.

"Are you Flash Thompson?" You ask before you could stop yourself.

Surprise flashed on his face before a smug smirk appeared on his face.

"Wow! I know that I'm famous but not much. Damn!" He said, running a hand through his hair.

You giggle at his ignorance as you take off your glasses. Folding it and keeping it safely in your hand bag, you step towards him, closing the distance between you two.

"Listen here you little shit." The smirk on his fell at your words, "If I ever hear from Peter that even got anywhere near him, I'll kidnap you, shave off your head, leave you on a deserted island and post your disgusting nudes all over the internet."

"Wh—"

"Shut up and listen." Flash gulped with fear, his face covered in sweat. The menacing aura around you looked scarier than the monster under his bed.

You say while jabbing on his forehead with your pointer finger, "Don't think of him, don't look at him, don't walk on his direction, don't breathe on his direction. Don't go anywhere around my boyfriend. Got it, you failed experiment of a chimpanzee?"

"Y-yes, I....um, I-I..... I under-understand." He nodded his head vigorously. Anything to get away from you.

"Good." You back away, giving him space to finally breathe in relief. Fuck! He didn't know Peter's girlfriend was this scary.

"Y/N?" The familiar voice of your boyfriend called from behind and your demeanour changed like lizards change colours.

"Hey, Pete." You walk up, giving him a quick kiss, "let's go, you are skipping class today. I missed you."

You linked your arm with him and started dragging him out of the school. Peter complied with you because he did miss you a lot too and skipping one day was not going to do any harm on him.

"I missed you a lot." Peter smiled down at you.

You left the school, leaving behind a embarrassed Flash. After you two left did Flash realised the crowd of students circling around him in the hallway. And they were chuckling while looking down at his pants?

Flash looked, "FUCK!"

His blue jeans were now dark blue, water spread on the floor around him. He had peed in his pants. His face turned red with anger and embarrassment. He should not have fucked with Peter.

FUCK!

© 𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐔𝐒-𝐍-𝐋𝟎𝐕𝐄 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to LOTUS-N-L0VE. do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

[alphajocklover]

No longer a Spider, finally a Man

**Hey! First time doing a fanfic muscle growth. Or at least posting it. I hope you guys like it! Please tell me how I can do better, and send in story suggestions if you want!**

Peter Parker loved being Spider-Man. He loved saving people, he loved using his powers to make a difference, he loved swinging through the sky line. But he also hated it. He hated the pressure, the responsibility, the fact that he nd his loved ones were in constant danger, the fact that he was always lying to everyone. He hated that he could never be normal. But then again Peter had never been very normal. Even before becoming Spider-man he had been a nerd. Smart, socially awkward, and tormented by the popular kids. That didn’t exactly change after becoming Spider-Man either, though his social issues had definitely gone to the back burner with him constantly fighting crime. If he was being honest his social life had only gotten worse since becoming a superhero. He had gained some muscle and no longer needed glasses, yes, but he couldn’t exactly show that. He hadn’t had time for his friends, his normally fantastic grades were slipping, and Flashes bullying had only gotten worse.

As Peter, out of costume, walked to Midtown, he wondered what it would be like to be a normal teenager. Not just what it would be like to not be Spider-Man, but to not be a nerd. He wondered what it would be like to be a regular teenage boy. Maybe if he wasn’t Spider-Man he could have even been… cool or something. Probably not, but it was still a nice fantasy. Just as he was imagining this, his spider-sense went off. He looked around, prepared to jump out of the way of any danger, but, even with his super reflexes, he couldn’t get out of the way before the strange something hit him right in the middle of his chest. Peter stumbled back, not realizing that the reality stone, one of the infinity stones, had lodged itself inside of his heart. Normally such a thing would kill someone, or at least hurt them, but due to the magic nature of the stone it phased through his chest and inside of him without harming him. Peter blinked. What… just happened? He had sworn something had just flown into his chest but… wouldn’t that have killed him or something? Before he could investigate further, an alarm on his phone began to ring. Crap, he was late for class! Peter ran into the school as the power of the reality stone seeped into his blood. He turned a corner, just a hallway away from his classroom, when he almost ran straight into a wall of muscle, his super-reflexes being the only thing that saved him. As he skirted to a halt, he came face to face with his biggest tormentor (supervillains and news editors notwithstanding) : Flash Thompson. The most popular jock in school and Peter Parker's personal bully. The blond quarterback sneered cockily at Peter before he spoke

“Hey there Puny Parker. Running late again? I thought geeks like you were supposed to be punctual and shit?” Flash said with a cocky mocking laugh.

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter asked with a scowl, trying to keep his patience.

“Just checking up on my favorite nerd.” Flash mocked, grabbing Peter’s arm. Before Peter could react, Flash had shoved him up against the locker, peters arm pinned behind his back. What the heck? He had super powers, enhanced reflexes, he should have been able to see that coming. Peter didn’t realize that his subconscious desire to be normal was repressing his powers. Unable to fight back, Peter was shoved into a nearby open locker and locked inside. Peter sighed. Stuck in a locker again. Peter didn’t notice as the orange light in his chest began to glow. He closed his eyes and deeply wished… to stop being a loser. To be normal. To be… anything else than who he was. The orange light grew brighter and brighter… until it completely consumed Peter. Suddenly he heard something

“Parker… Parker!”

With a start Peter Parker woke up, looking around in shock. He was… in a classroom? He was sitting at a desk at the back of a class he didn’t recognize, one that he seemed to have been sleeping through. Had all of that been a crazy dream? He looked over to see the remedial math teacher, Ms Jones. What was he doing in remedial math? Before he could say anything, Ms Jones spoke once more

“Mr Parker, please try to stay awake during class. Your grade is already low enough.” She said, sending a chuckle throughout the room. Peter spoke without thinking, his voice deeper and fuller than he remembered.

“Sorry teach. I’m still tired from our ‘study session’ last night. Thanks for the extra tutoring by the way~” he said. Did he just… flirt with a teacher? He did! And weirdly enough the slight embarrassed blush on Ms Jones face suggested that it was working. Ms. Jones spoke again, more timid this time

“While.. just don’t be late tonight.” She said with a slight wink, before walking over to the front of the classroom again. This caused the class, which now that Peter was looking consisted mostly of the football team, too laugh loudly, one punching Peter on the shoulder in a playful manner. Peter felt a smirk he couldn’t control come over his face, and his eyes involuntaries followed Ms Jones' ass as she walked back to the front of the class. In a daze, Peter tried to figure out what was happening. Wasn’t he just in a locker? What was he doing in remedial math? And why was he acting so weird? Before he could wonder any further, the bell rang and class was dismissed. Peter ran out without talking to anyone, and headed to a nearby bathroom. He looked in the mirror and froze. It was Peter but… completely different. He was bigger, taller, with wider shoulders. He had full, bouncy pecs that were barely contained by his tank top, shredded abs that he could grate cheese on, and truly impressive biceps. Peter had gone from a geek who gets stuffed into lockers to a huge muscular jock! Peter wanted to be shocked, to be horrified, but… he felt another smirk cross his face. He began to flex his muscles cockily. He smirked and felt his thoughts turn. He looked fucking amazing! I mean, of course he did. He was big Pete Parker, the big man, the quarterback, the stud! Slowly Peter began to forget about his old self, too absorbed in the strong, dull thoughts going through his head. He wondered what he and his best bro Flash would do after football practice? Maybe beat up some geeks, or find a hottie to hook up with? Peter had a lot of girls to choose from already, including MJ, Liz, Gwen, Charlie and of course Ms Jones, but… he wouldn’t mind another. Pete smirked and strut out of the bathroom, not noticing a light orange glow between his pecs. Life was fucking sweet.

[love7poetry]

dancing phantoms on the terrace

⤷ loml!homecoming!peter parker x reader

𝜗𝜚. . . synopsis. sophomore year's homecoming, the night peter knew it has and will always be you.

𝜗𝜚. . . general tag. fluff

.ᐟ. . . content warnings. spelling but that's nothing new, clichè, and peter being the clueless genius he is

♫⋆｡ i felt aglow like this, never before and never since, if you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sophia's letter ! i have decided to give loml!peter a little series and although this could be read as a stand alone, it follows peter and artsy!reader's relationship before the events of no way home/loml. also, hiiii i moved to my main blog! first part of this series will stay in my second blog, but from now on i will be posting all my work here!

part i

wc. 1,363

the music from the gym could be heard even from the high rooftop of the school. students were starting to head to their cars in groups, most likely to attend another party with more alcohol.

a certain girl in a red dress walking out of the doors caught peter’s eye.

liz. he had walk out on her, his date, to go put her own dad in jail.

he could see that she was on a phone call, and he didn’t need to use his enhanced hearing to know she was receiving the news that her dad was being arrested. peter looked away.

he glanced behind him at the door to the roof terrace, sensing someone. he was about to leave before whoever was coming could see him in his homemade suit, but his shoulders relaxed when he saw you.

you made eye contact with your best friend and your heart dropped at the sight. it was clear he had taken more than a few punches. there was blood and ash covering him while he held his left side in pain.

‘oh my god, peter’ he still managed to give you a smile. you rushed over to him with a worried expression. ‘i’m okay.’ he hated making you worry about him.

you sigh, shaking your head. ‘what happened?’

peter looked down. ‘the flying bird-man i’ve been fighting this entire time, is liz’s dad and i just got him arrested.’

you grimace, ‘oh no, pete.’ you didn’t know how to respond to that. sure, ever since peter started crushing on liz, you felt some sort of grudge towards her, but never would you wish having your date standing you up in front of the whole school the same night your dad gets arrested on anyone.

‘i know.’ peter sat on the floor, feeling too tired and defeated to stand. you followed after him.

the rooftop overlooked midtown and through the railings you could see the students in their pretty dresses and dark suits. not one of them had any idea that spider-man was sitting in their school’s roof. for the first time since the bite, peter envied their normal lives.

‘i feel like an asshole.’ peter confessed after a moment of comfortable silence. you look over at him, but he was focused on the lights coming from below you.

you think over your words carefully. ‘you looked like one,’ you started, and peter sighed. ‘liz doesn’t know about spider-man, so she deserves an apology from you. since you can’t tell her the truth, be honest about how sorry you are. it is the least you can do.’ peter nods, knowing you’re right.

you inhale, ‘but you did the right thing. you didn’t let your feelings for liz get in the way of stopping a criminal.’ now you look ahead while peter turns to look at you.

‘you’re not an asshole, pete. you’re a kid with too much responsibility.’

peter’s throat felt swollen. he looked you over and noticed the way his heart was beating. it was loud and fast, but rather than an anxious pit forming in his stomach like it did with liz, he felt a warmth. there was security and excitement with you.

peter’s hand twitched and he is confused as to why it itches to hold yours.

you feel peter’s stare and look at him. your breath hitches in your throat when you make eye contact with his glossy eyes. feeling your shoulder against his, he radiates warm and you think it is from the fight he had with mr. toomes.

both completely oblivious to the affect you had on peter.

‘how was your night?’ it was almost a whisper when peter spoke. he needed you to ground him before he overstimulates himself. for some reason, all his senses were on you and it was scaring him.

he could smell your strawberry scented shampoo, see the glittery powders you added to your makeup even though they were fading by now, feel the burning of your body against his yet it doesn’t feel like you’re close enough, and hear your own heartbeat along with his.

peter was reminded of the day you found him having a panic attack after the bite when he didn’t understand why everything was sticking to him or how he was able to break the faucet with his bare hands. you had told him to focus on you until he could breathe again and he told you about the spider.

the realization that he still searches for the rhythm of your heart every time he feels overwhelmed hits him, and his already exhausted mind is slowly piecing together what his heart has always known.

‘it was alright,’ you answer. ‘people kept asking me about you, so i decided to come here for some peace.’ you noticed peter’s brows furrowed and tried to ease him, ‘i don’t mind them asking.’

you weren’t going to tell him that you came up here because you couldn’t stand the way they kept talking about him and calling him names. peter is already having a hard night.

‘still, im really sorry for dragging you into this,’ peter’s face showed distress.

you know peter is an apologetic person, and sometimes he needs to hear he is forgiven even if he doesn’t need to apologize in the first place.

an idea goes off in your head.

you stand before offering your hand down to him. he looks up at you confused and you bite your lip to contain a smile. ‘i’ll forgive you, if you dance with me.’

by now, there were more students in the parking lot than inside the gym and the music had stop at some point while you were up here with peter, but you didn’t care.

peter hesitates and you playfully roll your eyes. ‘come on, i was sitting down all night and you clearly need a little fun.’

‘i hope you know this is very cliché,’ you know it is, but the smile forming in peter’s lips as his hand reach for yours makes it worth it.

once he’s standing, peter grows stiff and his hands tremble as he hesitates to put them on your waist. you’re making it hard for peter to remember his dancing lesson with may.

he hears your heartbeat increase.

when you see peter struggle, you gently guide his hands, and peter looks down at his feet to hide the blush that is starting to creep down his neck and to the tip of his ears. his own heart speeds up when you wrap your arms around his neck

you start to slow dance and peter follows your lead.

you’ve liked peter since the beginning of freshman year, but you’ve given up on the delusion that one day he will reciprocate your feelings. yet, there is something there tonight, a glimpse when he looked at you like never before.

you step closer.

peter notices and his hands’ grip on you tightens, more so as a way to control himself than to keep you at a distance. he has been your friend since you two were kids, so why is he just now aware of the way his body reacts to you?

even if it is a little awkward to dance to the sound of cars leaving the school’s campus or students hanging out before getting picked up, you’re enjoying this far more than the actual homecoming.

after another moment passes in each other's arms, peter gains the courage to meet your eyes. they tracing every detail on his face, he notices, from the creases on his forehead to the curve of his lips. he grows awfully aware that he is filthy right now, but your gaze is soft.

'you have really pretty eyes,' peter wants to take a picture of you, memorize the way you look tonight forever. 

his words make you stop your movements. you feel like melting under his intense, starry eyes. 'i think you hit your head,' you let out a breathy laugh, trying to make light of the situation to spare your feelings. 

'no, that's not it.' peter shakes his head. he finally understands what the rapid beating of his heart has been trying to tell him. 

peter parker is in love with you.

you can see the realization behind peter's eyes, a sight you're sure you'll remember forever, and peter really hopes he isn't about to mess things up. 

'may i please kiss you?'

[highvern]

Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader

Genre: romance, smut, angst, exes to lovers, Christmas!AU, fake dating

Warnings: she/her pronouns, Drug use, alcohol, mentions of aging family members, unhealthy family dynamics, mentions of illness (reader is a doctor), cursing, dry-humping/grinding, kissing, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, unprotected sex, angst, poor self-esteem/self-doubt, pining, some threats of bodily harm

Length: ~24k

Note: God this was such a doozy. I started it on December 1st and barely finished it this morning. Based on Happy Place by Emily Henry (if you like romcoms I highly recommend all her books) and most cheesy Christmas movies (Exmas). Did I project my middle child syndrome onto fellow middle child Wooyoung? Maybe! BUT why write if not to explore your own trauma lmao

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy or don’t! Merry Christmas! MWAH!

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

June 27th

“So I have some news. I know it hasn’t been easy for us going back—”

“I think we should break up.”

“and forth so much but—What?” 

“I don’t think it's working out between us.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say before your vocal cords seize.

Your mouth falls open, lips attempting to form words that don’t manage to make a sound. Eyes shifting around the room, the sheen of tears thickening as a few beads trail down your cheeks as you stand shakily; managing only a few steps away from the table before a choked sob wiggles free from an iron grip. People are staring as you nearly run out to the door, unaware that several whip around to look at the man left sitting behind you.

Wooyoung doesn’t chase you down. Doesn’t call or text as you walk the twenty blocks to Lisa’s apartment in the thick humidity of the city night; snot and tears trailing down your face.

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything at all as eight years shatter to pieces in a matter of seconds.

December 7th

Wooyoung

…twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.

Wooyoung staples the finished packets together, ears tickled by jazzy Christmas music leaking from his computer speakers in the corner of his L-shaped desk. Surrounded by colorful brick walls of a midtown elementary school isn’t where most people his age would find themselves on a Friday evening but where else would he go?

His roommates have their partners over, he’d rather avoid the frigid dampness of the park he usually smokes at, and Wooyoung isn’t interested in the crowds clogging anywhere else he’d think to visit. The usual comforting bustle of the city only serves to set him on edge, making him desperate for a true solitude he really craves. Getting ahead on his classroom prep for the remainder of the semester seemed like the perfect, albeit a depressing way, to spend the evening.

The dulcet tones of Dean Martin are joined by an incoming call buzzing his phone across the wooden top of the desk. A familiar picture of his mom and him as a baby flashing across the screen before he answers.

“Hi sweetie,” his mom yells on the other line. Wooyoung can tell she’s driving home from work based on the poor audio quality.

“Hey mom,” he wedges the device between his shoulder and cheek, using his hands to continue organizing the worksheets for Monday; paper warm in his palms from the printer.

“I’m just calling to make sure you and Y/N are still coming for Christmas. I know the hospital is usually crazy this time of year so I thought I’d double check.”

“Actually mom—”

“Bibi keeps talking about wanting everyone home for Christmas but if Y/N can’t make it she’ll understand. She’s always been her favorite.” His mom laughs.

Wooyoung’s grandmother is impolitely frank about her age and never hesitates to use it to her own advantage. How does he tell her that his girlfriend, who she liked more than her own grandsons some days, is no longer his girlfriend? And how he is the only one to be blamed for that.

He might as well start digging his own grave.

“We’ll be there.” Wooyoung blabs before he can stop himself.

“Wonderful! I’m pulling into the driveway so I’ll talk to you later. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Fortunately, on a cold winter night like tonight, the only other soul in the building is Mr. Rollins, a janitor with headphones permanently attached to his ears. The colorful combination of expletives pouring from Wooyoung’s mouth would make a sailor blush.

Typing in a familiar name to his message bar, Wooyoung realizes he hasn’t changed it in all this time; the string of emojis from the first night he got her number glaring back at him in mockery. A sting of bile blisters the back of Wooyoung’s throat as he steads himself for what he’s about to do. Who he is about to ask for the biggest mercy; one he didn’t deserve in the slightest.

Wooyoung: Can I call you?

Wooyoung inhales before hitting “send,” locking his phone and tossing it down like it’s possessed.

Barely a full minute passes before it vibrates with her response.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: are you okay?

He can’t even type a reply before the buzz buzz buzz on an incoming call tickles against his palm. 

Tapping into the false chipper personality he reserves for strangers and his class, Wooyoung answers with a simple. “Hey!” 

“Hi.” She deadpans.

“Is it a bad time?”

“What do you want, Woo?”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine. But you aren’t calling to ask me that.”

Wooyoung wants to object but she’s right. “I’m not but I still care.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so my mom called and asked if you were coming over for Christmas.”

“Why?” Y/N asks after a pregnant pause.

“Because I haven’t told them we broke up.”

A rush of clattering sounds from her end along with a few curse words sounding far away before she continues. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s been six months!”

“I know! But I’ve been busy and there was never a good time and it’s just kinda snowballed.”

“Well, tell her now.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Bibi keeps talking about how she wants everyone how for one last Christmas and with Kyungmin going to colle—”

“Please tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

“You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

“I thought us breaking up meant I didn’t have to deal with your shit anymore.”

“I can tell them your busy and the hospital is keeping you or—”

“No,” Wooyoung can picture the hand scrubbing down her face, fingers massaging her temples the same way she always did when his shenanigans got them in trouble. “I’ll do it.”

Now he’s the one to pause, “Really?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to see them all one last time.”

“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I actually need to get back to doing that so–”

“Yeah, I’ll, ugh, talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

As the line clicks and Wooyoung is left alone in his classroom, the space abruptly feels too big. With each minute ticking by, he convinces himself he hallucinated the entire exchange because there is no possible way his ex-girlfriend agreed to this ill-thought plan. Everything feels too normal for her to extend such undue kindness his way, especially after how he ruined their relationship in a moment of insecurity.

Wooyoung: My flight out is 12/21

Wooyoung: You don’t have to come that early 

Y/N🥰🍯💖: im off starting the 19th

Wooyoung: I’ll pay for your flight

Y/N🥰🍯💖: great

Y/N🥰🍯💖: ill venmo you

Wooyoung: Cool, send me the details

There’s a weight on Wooyoung’s tongue at the new dynamic settling between them. Eight years of dating but now she’s a stranger. The last text messages arranging for their mutual friend Lisa to pick up a box of her stuff from his apartment. 

Six months and he didn’t know if she kept her hair the same way or what new book she was obsessing over in her sparse free time; if her neighbor in Boston’s yappy geriatric dog finally kicked the bucket.

Lovers. Almost fiancées. And now strangers.

December 10th

Wooyoung

Wooyoung wakes up to the early morning bustle of the busy streets just outside his window. His phone clock reads thirty minutes past his normal alarm which means he’s late. And that means his boss is going to tear his ass a new one. 

In a whirl, Wooyoung rushes to the bathroom. He wets his hands with the freezing tap water, patting his face and attempting to style his bed ridden hair. The door shifts to catch his foot as he exits, stubbing his toe and forcing him to hop down the hallway to his room. Wrinkled khakis and a sweater are all Wooyoung manages before he throws on his parka and is out the door. 

He sprints to the subway, just in time to see the doors closing on his train.

“Fuck me!”

“Too young for me buddy,” croaks the homeless man splayed on the bench in the middle of the platform.

Ignoring him, Wooyoug paces further down the station, anger filling him with restless energy. Glancing at his phone, he shoots an email to his principal that he’ll be late due to “train delays.” Thank god for the MTA being a regular piece of shit. 

Finally checking the stream of missed notifications during the night, he uses the lull to answer them.

Mom: Does y/n still like those chips we bought last time? I’m at the store getting a few things

Wooyoung: She said she’s happy with whatever you get!

Not a lie since Y/N would be happy to have snacks of any kind.

SANNIE⛰️: YOU DIDN’T TELL YOUR PARENTS? 

SANNIE⛰️: U R SO FUCKED

At least he can always count on San to state the obvious.

Y/N🥰🍯💖: here’s my ticket 

Wooyoung does a double take when he sees she’s flying out of New York, not Boston. Why isn’t she flying out of Boston? There’s no way it’s cheaper than flying out of Boston and she wouldn’t go through the trouble of getting down here unless she had a good reason.

Wooyoung: Why are you flying out of LGA?

Y/N🥰🍯💖: Because I live here?

A lump of lead hardens in his stomach. She lives here, in New York. She’s been in the city and he didn’t even notice. Questions race forward. How long has she been here? Where is she working? What neighborhood is she in? Why didn’t he know she moved back?

The last question is more his own fault than he cares to admit.

His train arrives without preamble, brakes screeching as it slows to a stop. Wooyoung crowds into the compartment, happy for it to be relatively empty. Finding a spot on the wall, he zones out of the chaos for the next twenty minutes. A group of highschoolers laugh obnoxiously in the corner, snatching one another’s phones as they share god knows what between them. A young mom tries to placate her crying baby, the older man next to her rolling his eyes as he devours his morning paper. When the doors open at his stop, Wooyoung pauses for a second as an elderly woman enters the train. Catching her eye, he offers her his seat; only standing when she’s close enough so no one else tries to take it from her. 

Wooyoung slithers out of the closing doors and bolts out of the station as fast as he can.

Panting and sweating under his black parka, Wooyoung arrives outside the red doors of the elementary school he teaches at. Principal Martinez is tapping his foot at the top of the steps, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowl etched deep on his face.

“This is the third time this month.”

“I know, I’m sorry! But the train got delayed with repairs or something and—”

“Save it. You have a class to get to.”

Breezing past, Wooyoung’s boots clack against the linoleum tile as he careens towards his classroom. The rowdy cacophony of third grade voices echo beyond the doorway, only increasing in volume as he peeks his head in.

A dozen shrill voices scream something along the lines of, “Mr. Jung you’re late!”

“You’re all just early!” Wooyoung goads back, sending a thankful look at the teacher who stepped in to watch them till he arrived.

The room descends into giggles, students finding their places as he settles at his own desk.

“So today, we’re starting with circle time!”

Y/N

“Let me get this straight: your ex asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend and now you’re spending Christmas with his family?”

Sparing a glance from the manilla folder containing notes on your next patient, you see Hongjoong watching you skeptically. The ridiculousness of the situation isn’t lost on you. You’d nearly convinced yourself the entire exchange Friday night was some cruel dream if not for the string of text messages proving it’d been real. Wooyoung’s first real attempt to speak with you post-breakup, and he asks you to pretend he didn’t break your heart six months ago.

“That’s about as straight as it gets.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow, “And you said yes, why?”

“Because…” 

You missed him? Because you still loved him? Because when you saw his message you thought he was finally ready to admit it'd all been a mistake? 

Because Wooyoung always convinced you to go along with whatever he asked?

“I really like his family.”

“Oh, sweet child.” He clicks, leafing through his own case file.

“Look, it’ll be nice to see them one last time and I’d rather spend the holidays with them than cramped in my apartment to avoid the tourists.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why?”

“Yep.”

“This can’t go wrong at all!”

“Shut up,” you say before dipping into the exam room, shifting your face into an enthusiastic smile. “How are we today, Mrs. Haspin?”

“We’re doing okay. Harper hasn’t been liking the new medicine you prescribed.”

“She hasn’t?” You gasp sarcastically, staring wide eyed at the tiny brunette with braided pigtails sitting on the exam room bed.

“They’re gross!” Harper cries with all the sincerity a four year old can muster, her tiny hands wrinkling the paper as she slaps the bed indignantly.

“Well that’s no good. I’ll make sure to check if they have other flavors.” You type a few notes in her electronic chart as you turn over your shoulder. “Mom, have you noticed a difference?”

“She’s not having as many coughing fits.”

“That is very good.” You curl your stethoscope in your palm, attempting to warm the cool metal. “Can I listen to your lungs, Harper?”

She shakes her head up and down vigorously, the pink and gold beads at the end of her pigtails clacking together.

“Alright, take a deep breath in.” The woosh of air entering her lungs fills the room. “And out. In. And out.”

You prompt her to continue several times, gliding the chestpiece along various parts of her back as you listen intently. A few crackles pop in your ears, mucus coating her airways; only made worse by the dry winter of the city.

“Very good, Harper.” you praise before turning to her mom waiting anxiously in the corner. “With the winter make sure you’re using the humidifier as much as possible but her lungs sound better than last time so I’d like to stay on the meds.” You swivel back to your patient. “I’ll check with the pharmacy if they can do something about the flavor. Okay?”

Harper beams, glad to be heard. Her mother beams for an entirely different reason. Her daughter struggled with respiratory issues since she’d been born and as she aged they’d only gotten worse. Harper was the first patient you took when you started two months ago and in that time you’ve grown fond of her.

“All right, I’ll walk you all to the front. I think we can push out our next visit until six weeks since she’s been doing so well. If anything comes up, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

Handing them off to the receptionist to schedule their next appointment, you return to your office for a quick lunch.

Y/N: Because I live here

Youngie 🖤: since when?

How do you tell him that you’ve lived here since the day he broke up with you? How that night at dinner you were planning to surprise him by moving back to New York and removing the distance that plagued your relationship for three years?

The benefit of no longer being in a relationship means you don’t have to explain anything.

Locking your phone, you scarf down the squashed sandwich you brought from home before rushing to your next patient. 

Wooyoung

Wooyoung: since when?

Wooyoung checked his phone after finishing pick up duty, one of several over the next month as a bargain to keep his job.

She’d ignored him. It wasn’t the first time his messages went hours before being answered. She was a doctor, and before that a med student, and before that pre-med when they’d met at some dive and realized they shared a behavioral psych class. Y/N always maintained a full schedule, only responding to the outside world when the night bled into the early hours of the day.

Wooyoung: Did you know Y/N moved here?

Yeosang: Yes.

Well fuck.

Wooyoung: You didn’t think to tell me?

Yeosang: You broke up.

Yeosang: ?

Even his roommate knew she’d been in the city.

Double fuck.

December 14th

Y/N

Another week passes before Wooyoung reaches out to you again. You’re set to leave in a few days but work requires all the energy you can manage thanks to a volatile respiratory season. 

Youngie 🖤: Our flights are around the same time. Do you wanna carpool?

You spoke with Yeosang frequently enough (once in a blue moon) to know they still lived in the dingy old walk up they could hardly afford. The high rise you rented further up Manhattan would be on his way to the airport but did you want to see Wooyoung sooner than needed?

Misery still festered in your veins since the break up. Eight years you’d dated; through senior year of undergrad, four years of medical school, and just shy of three years of residency. And the asshole couldn’t give you a single reason for your break up. No warning. No fighting. The same bouquet of delicate pink tulips waiting in hand for you as you arrived at the train station for your last visit to the city before relocating permanently. Yeosang texted you that very afternoon about his excitement to have you back as if nothing was wrong.

A beautiful afternoon holed up in his room for a late nap before dinner, apartment silent in the absence of his three roommates who’d usually greet you enthusiastically as you returned to the city for a visit. Wooyoung hadn’t acted any differently than the other times you visited, seemingly unaware of the surprise you planned to unveil at the fancy dinner he planned to congratulate you on finishing your long years of training.

But then he sat down and said the six words that replayed in your mind like a curse.

And that was the last time you heard his voice until Friday night; as if Wooyoung dove off the face of the earth. The only proof of living were the traces of him in his friends’ Instagram stories or faceless photos of him in their posts.

You’d never been one to post much on social media anyway but his shock at your move back to the city fanned a sick sense of satisfaction. As if to say “two can play at that game.” Wooyoung cut you out and you’d done the same. Keeping your move under lock and key despite sharing the same friend group.

Y/N: no thanks

You’re toeing the line of rudeness but what’s Wooyoung going to do? Break up with you again?

December 21st

Wooyoung

Terminal C of LaGuardia Airport four days before Christmas ranks among the top destinations no one in their right mind would want to be. Parents attempting to keep track of hyper children, businessmen scowling down their nose as they scream into their cellphones, adults slamming down overpriced drinks in preparation for the endless questions holidays bring.

“Bringing home anyone special?”

“When are you going to get married?”

“Grandchildren?”

The last is Wooyoung’s grandmother’s new favorite. Myungho faces the brunt of it; married three years and in no rush to add another mouth to feed just yet. When Wooyoung flew home for Bibi’s birthday in April, she decided to turn her inquiry towards him and Y/N. 

How fun it’ll be to answer those questions again with his temporarily not ex-girlfriend.

Security is long and laborious. One agent yells at him for keeping his shoes on, another rolls her eyes when he asks if his laptop needs to come out of his backpack. In front of him, a frail looking elderly woman struggles with placing the hard plastic bin on the rolling conveyor belt. Behind, grumbles of discontent regarding her holding up the line rise in volume as Wooyoung helps her with her things; sending a smile to her thank you.

And because no good deed goes unpunished, Wooyoung gets pulled for an extra search once he passes the large metal detector.

A burly pale skinned man with blue nitrile gloves sorts through his belongings with the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. Wooyoung’s wrecked and dusty backpack passes inspection easily enough but the contents of his carry-on end up spread across the shiny metal table for further examination under the sterile lights. Gifts for his family, some books he’s teaching next semester, and a navy velvet box he hasn’t left the city without in the past year.

That is apparently the source of interest for TSA as the man pops open the lid to scan the marquis cut diamond ring before putting it back in its place.

“Congrats, man.”

“Thanks.” Wooyoung gives a tight smile.

Nodding his head to his colleague, the TSA agent steps away and allows Wooyoung to pack his bags.

He really needs a drink.

Y/N

“I’m sorry ma’am, the flight is overbooked. But there is room on the next flight to Denver!”

“No charge?”

“Not unless you would like to upgrade to business class.”

You have the money and Wooyoung paid for your seat so it’s technically cheaper than it’d usually be. However, Wooyoung would take it personally if he found out you sat in business when he paid for a last minute economy flight on a teachers salary. A few hours of comfort aren’t worth adding to the awkwardness you’ll face over the next week.

 “No, thank you. But if there’s an aisle seat available that’d be great.”

She taps on her keyboard with manicured nails for a moment, the light of the screen reflecting on her face, before speaking with a perfect customer service smile. “Alright, your new flight number is AYX287 and you’ll be flying out of Gate 98.”

“Thank you.” You say, reviewing the boarding pass she printed. Your new gate is on the opposite side of the terminal but you have a little over an hour to make it there.

Rolling your silver carry-on next to you, you weave in and out of the other airport goers heading in the opposite directions. A curse of any crowded space, people forget to walk with a sense of purpose. You dodge a young couple, probably teenagers, standing in the middle of the walkway oblivious to anyone else; only to end up behind an gaggle of older women surrounded by a heavy cloud of perfume and cheap wine. One of their shirts reads “Happily Divorced!” in glittery cursive.

More nimble footwork and multiple sign checks later, you reach the correct wing of the terminal with forty five minutes to spare. Confirming that your gate does in fact exist, you turn back up the walkway to find a drink. Preferably several.

The first time you see Wooyoung in months will require the strongest alcohol you can finally afford now that residency is over and you're making the hefty salary you’d been promised at the start of medical school.

A friendly faced woman, old enough to be your mother, greets you as you take a stool at her bar. 

“Cranberry margarita.”

“Wanna start a tab?”

“Yes, please.” You answer, handing over your credit card.

The first overpriced drink goes down smoothly, a little sweet and perfectly tart. The second and third much the same. Pleasantly buzzed with fifteen minutes till boarding, you cash out and shuffle back to wait by the gate.

And in one of the cramped pleather seats of the waiting area, sits your ex-boyfriend.

Wooyoung

Wooyoung is hallucinating. Two gin and gingers and a THC gummy churning in his stomach make the mirage in front of him look incredibly realistic.

In her usual flying outfit, Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend stands twenty feet away every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw her. Loose gray sweats, the same old hunter green crew neck with the name of his hometown in frayed golden embroidery on the front, sherpa lined short ugg boots, and glasses perched on the end of her nose. The silver carry-on she bought in the airport last time they visited his family at her side.

And a sour look of absolute disgust twisting her lips.

Better he sees her for the first time since their break up now instead of later in front of the audience of his nosy family. In the safety of anonymity, she can kill him multiple times over with her eyes, and Wooyoung can grovel and pander like he usually does.

Or Wooyoung would if she hadn’t taken a seat along the bay of windows at the opposite end of the alcove.

Wonderful.

Y/N actively avoids looking in his general direction for the next fifteen minutes. An impressive feat given he’s directly in front of the help desk and TV screen displaying updates for their flight. But she digs her nose into her phone, tapping furiously to who Wooyoung assumes is her best friend. If he wakes up to Lisa in his apartment one morning with a knife to his throat, there’ll at least be a paper trail of evidence.

The gate agent booms over the loudspeaker, announcing priority boarding and first class to come forward. Wooyoung’s bank account weeps at the idea of flying first class during Christmas. Who flies first class domestic? A true mystery for the ages.

The familiar head of hair, full of murderous thoughts aimed at him, boards with group three. Flashing a polite smile to the gate agent as she struts down the hall without a glance back. 

When Wooyoung is called with the last group, he’s first in line. The airport is a dog eat dog world and his good deeds end where the boarding line begins.

Nearly every seat is filled when Wooyoung shuffles down the cramped aisle, full overhead bins already closed half way down the plane. He doesn’t spot Y/N amongst the faces of passengers preparing for the next five hours, some already knocked out with eye masks and neck pillows.

Seat 27A, a window seat Wooyoung paid an extra $37 for, sits next to a blissfully vacant middle seat. There’s also just enough room for his black suitcase to fit overhead, snug between a gray hard case, and a blue duffle. 

The aisle seat in the row is occupied by a man who looks a little younger than Wooyoung's age, a college hoodie and baseball cap similar to his own. He rises, allowing Wooyoung to shuffle by and plop into his chair. Stuffing his backpack under the seat in front, Wooyoung shoots a few last minute texts. One to his family group chat, letting them know the flight is about to take off; resending the flight number for his dad to anxiously track. Another to his roommate group chat, reminding them to cover the drains before they leave town. And a final one to San, begging for thoughts and prayers.

He barely hits send when the seat next to him jostles with the weight of a body. Turning, Wooyoung spots the man in the aisle seat a few inches from himself. On the other side, his ex-girlfriend.

Great.

Y/N

Wooyoung’s familiar mop of dark hair remains unseen through each new rush of passengers, the plane slowly filling up more and more. You dread to think he got stuck the same way you did hours ago, forced on a later flight than intended. If that was the case, would you be stuck at the airport waiting for him? Given his parents had to drive two hours to pick you both up, the answer is probably yes. And two hours unsupervised with Wooyoung’s mom would ruin the entire plan.

Nature calls you to the cramped bathroom at the back of the aircraft as passengers at the front continue trickling in. Hopefully Wooyoung is sitting far away from you when you return to your seat.

Stupid motherfucker. You think, rattling the jammed door of the airplane stall in an attempt to force it open. Just as you're about to kick the door down, a flight attendant shoves it aside, flashing a tight smile of displeasure.

Shuffling up back to your seat, you awkwardly wait behind struggling passengers putting away their belongings in the sparse overhead space. Thank the powers that be, your new ticket came with better boarding.

Finally catching up to the familiar faces of the rows around your seat, you turn to find two men in your row. One in your seat, and the other your ex boyfriend.

You stop dead in your tracks, with a loud, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Sorry!” The man who is not your ex-boyfriend apologizes.

“No! Not you, sorry!”

Wooyoung just stares blankly. If habit and history were to repeat itself, Wooyoung carefully timed an edible before stepping through security. Given his propensity for being obnoxiously early to the airport, he should be high as a kite.

And now you’re stuck next to him drunk as a skunk.

Great.

Taking the now vacant aisle seat, you attempt to ignore Wooyoung once again; plugging in your headphones and pulling out a book you’ve been trying to get through for months. Lisa’s recommendation of smutty fantasy romance with hot immortal faeries. You didn’t see the appeal but at her insistence, you gave it a chance.

“Hey,” calls a voice to your left. 

Nope, not doing this. You think, forcing yourself to read the opening paragraph again but registering none of the words..

“Y/N,” he tries again.

In your periphery, you can see Wooyoung folding over at the waist to look around the man sandwiched between you. 

“What?” You snap, ripping out your headphones.

“How’ve you been?”

Rolling your eyes with a groan, you sink back into your chair, headphones replaced and book in the pocket in front of you. It’s going to be a long flight.

Murphy’s law states that anything that can go wrong will and your flight is no exception. The packed jet is stuck taxing for almost an hour, courtesy of the trademark fog and rain of New York in the winter. You can feel the heat of Wooyoung’s gaze burn the side of your face, cheeks heating under his scrutiny. But the full scale meltdown threatening to unleash if you entertain him has no place in the sanctity of a last minute holiday flight of people just trying to make it to their next destination.

He doesn’t stop when the plane finally lurches forward, witnessing you brace for the worst part of flying; take off.

The loud rattles and pitch of jet engines skyrocket your blood pressure, flooding your mouth with saliva as a threat of vomiting everywhere; a sickening cold sweat pooling at your back. All you can do is close your eyes, and take deep calming breaths your guided meditation apps recommend. Running through the facts keeps you from descending into full panic. Airplanes are notoriously safe. The odds of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million. You’re more likely to die in a car crash or from something one of your patient’s brings into the hospital.

But the brief suspension in time and space as you rise through the atmosphere unsettles you to your core. 

The panic steeping into your veins is temporary, eager to vanish the second you reach cruising altitude. It disappears like a late winter snow under early spring sunlight, leaving only trace evidence it ever existed in the first place. But it’ll be back with a vengeance under the screaming brakes and the sounds of wheels hitting pavement as you land.

The seatbelt sign chimes off, and the breath you’d failed to release follows the fading light that illuminated it. 

Wooyoung tries to talk to you another two times before giving up. The final instance is a plea for the bathroom, which you graciously grant; thrilling in the relief you feel at his absence.

The poor guy between you two looks worse for wear, having offered to trade seats with either of you so you didn’t have to talk across him. You apologize once Wooyoung is out of earshot, excusing the strange behavior with a white lie that he's just a friend from college you didn’t get along with and hadn’t seen in a while. The stranger's name is Jay, and he laughs at the irony.

“That’s crazy that you two ended up on the same flight. Are you from Denver?”

“Oh, no. Just visiting some family in Lavensville. What about you?”

“No way! My mom is from Lanesville.”

“Small world,” you laugh. “So what took you to the city?”

“I’m in grad school at Columbia. Getting my MBA.” 

“Excuse me.” Wooyoung arrives over your shoulder.

When you rise, you notice his face is tense as he passes to return to his seat. He pretends to sleep the rest of the flight as you chat with the man next to you. 

Six laborious hours pass before you land in Denver. Exiting the plane, you leave Wooyoung behind in favor of waiting by the restrooms on the way to arrivals. You tap your foot impatiently as he stumbles over, clearly exhausted by the late arrival of your flight and the idea of another two hours in his mom’s cramped sedan.

Shuffling next to one another in somber silence, you wait for Wooyoung to speak first. He dragged you into this, and it’s his job to make it work.

“How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s work?”

“Fine.”

“Okay. Look.” He turns, stepping directly into your path and nearly toppling over when you bounce off his chest. “I’m sorry for all of this but you agreed to come so can we please at least act cordial?”

Unfortunately, Wooyoung is right. He might have put his foot in his mouth, but you didn’t take the chance to bail. He’s only fractionally more guilty than you.

“Fine.” You sigh.

He pins you with a look, eyebrows arched as if asking “are you sure?”

Shuffling around him, you begin your journey to baggage claim once again, Wooyoung hot on your heels.

“I’m working at a hospital uptown, I live in Yorkville, and I still prefer the buses to the train.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Wooyoung nods. “I’m at the same school, in the same apartment, and still living with San and Yeosang. But Mingi moved to Williamsburg with his girlfriend.”

You try to smother the snarkiness of your voice but a sarcastic “I know.” slips free.

Even if you weren’t as close with the boys due to the break up, they’d been your friends as much as his; especially Mingi’s girlfriend, who’d you introduced him to. Lia invited you to their housewarming party when they finally settled in but you missed it due to work, and the nerves of seeing Wooyoung so soon after such a fresh break up. 

The conveyor belt of remaining unclaimed luggage spins like the saddest merry-go-round in existence. Wooyoung jumps forward to snatch your suitcase before you can react, rolling it your direction before diving back in for his own. Once out of the way, he calls his mom to confirm she’s pulling around to pick you two up. 

The silver sedan whips to the curve, Wooyoung’s mom beaming from the driver’s seat.

“My babies!” She cries through the rolled down window.

Mrs. Jung always gave you the enthusiasm your own mother couldn’t feign. Smiling at her before circling the trunk where Wooyoung packs away your bags, you snatch his hand before he can throw it closed.

“Should we tell them I still live in Boston?”

As if you’ve just spoken another language, Wooyoung simply blinks at you.

“How are we gonna explain separate apartments? It makes no sense.”

“Oh,” he gasps, as if the thought didn’t occur to him. “Ugh, yeah good idea.”

The security guard monitoring the pick up area begins striding towards the car, inhaling to yell a warning. Throwing your remaining luggage inside the trunk roughly, you both sprint to enter the vehicle. Wooyoung plants himself in the passenger seat, squeezing his mom in a tight hug as you buckle in the middle seat. Untangling from her needy son, Mrs. Jung peels out and joins the line of cars attempting to merge on the interstate. 

Reclining the seat back, Wooyoung knocks out immediately, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“How’s Boston, dear?” She chimes, voice light and bouncy despite the late hour.

You provide your stock answer for everytime someone asks over the past three years.

“Cold, wet. Lots of sick babies.”

“At least they’re consistent!”

You try to swallow the instinct to comb through Wooyoung’s hair as he naps. The first thing you learned about him in the early phase of your relationship was that Wooyoung needed some kind of physical contact at all times or he’d die. At least, he thought so. It’d been annoying at first; the constant hand holding, suffocating hugs that left your arms useless as you tried to study, even the overabundance of cartoonish kisses anywhere his lips could reach. But over eight years, you grew to appreciate his special way of showing affection. When words failed the man who always had something to say, he relied on touch to convey the things he couldn’t verbalize.

Even if you say all the right things and act like nothing's wrong, anyone who has ever been associated with Wooyoung will know something is up if he isn’t hanging off you like a koala. So if you’re going to pretend the last six months hadn’t happened then you have no reason not to treat him the way you always had.

Your nails snag on a few invisible tangles in his shaggy hair that spills across the cloth seat. It’s longer than when you last saw him in the summer, top half pulled back in an elastic. Continuing to provide updates, you gently brush the bangs hanging in his face. Wooyoung whines sleepily when you pause, causing his mom to laugh.

“Nice to know the city hasn’t changed him.”

Quick to appease, you start again before responding. “Eh, I don’t know about that. Have you seen some of his shoes?”

“Still?” She gasps.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s terminal.”

Mrs. Jung’s cackly laugh is a perfect doppelganger of her son’s. Shrill and mischievous, compelling you to laugh along in pure glee even if you don’t find shared humor; bewitched by the pure joy.

Once the initial rush of reunion wanes, she insists you doze along with her son. The gentle caress of warm air from the vents, paired with the smooth carols from the radio, lulls you down into a shallow rest.

Wooyoung

As his mom rolls to a stop in their driveway, the gentle glow of the car's cabin lights draw Wooyoung awake. Eyes only a quarter open, he stretches in the reclined seat with an obnoxious yawn, hands brushing the firm body of Y/N dozing behind him. She shrugs his hand off her thigh, burrowing back down into the collar of her sweater.

“Come on, sleepy heads. We’re home.” His mom announces as she opens her door.

Home for Wooyoung is a cream two story, five bedroom, three bathroom, Williamsburg Revival style home with royal blue shutters. His dad added the two car garage himself, meticulously matching the exterior to the existing home, blending old and new seamlessly under the watchful eye of his mom. The now gray and dead garden that usually bloomed wildly below the first floor windows was his grandmother’s contribution when she moved in before Wooyoung started highschool.

When his parents were two college students at the obscure liberal arts college Lavensville was built around, his mom had been obsessed with the very house Wooyoung grew up in. According to his dad, Wooyoung’s mom talked more about the house than anything else; a true historic preservationist to her core.

It was an odd way to ask someone to marry you, but his dad always said “Some women wanted a ring. Your mom wanted this house.”

His dad surprised her with the ring after she stopped crying about the house.

Golden string lights drip from the corners of the roof, casting the exterior in a buttery soft haze. Each window sporting a wreath with a thick red velvet ribbon. A heavy layer of snow coating the ground like powdered sugar makes the entire scene like something out of a snowglobe. 

Another yawn before braving the inevitable blast of chilly air, Wooyoung spots Y/N in the rearview mirror; features curled in a sleepy scowl, eyes squinted against the sudden light.

Wooyoung joins his mom at the back of the car, crowding her away from the truck as she insists on helping them carry everything inside. She manages to snag his backpack and Y/N’s carryon before he can shoo her towards the path to the front door where his dad is jamming on an old pair of sneakers to come help.

“We got it!” Y/N calls across the icy lawn, bidding the older man to stay inside as she struggles with her suitcase.

“I can see that.” His dad laughs, jogging down the salted sidewalk curving along the front of the house to reach them.

His dad lifts her larger suitcase out of the truck with ease, leaving Wooyoung to roll his own inside while Y/N balances her tote bag and his carryon. The wheels grate against the uneven brick sidewalk as everyone rushes to return to the heated interior of the house.

It’s well past midnight as they climb the staircase in the foyer to the second floor. Wooyoung’s room is just as he left it the last time he visited in the spring. The headboard of the tiny twin bed resting against the wall just under the window looking out to the front yard, posters from his childhood still tacked up crookedly. 

Wooyoung tries very hard not to think about the last time they shared the quilt covered bed of his childhood room. How the last trip here had been the last time Y/N slept in his arms, the last time he laid her bare beneath him. Six months and the memories felt as real as they had when it happened.

Sharing the tiny mattress could only mean trouble for the delicate truce Wooyoung had made with her in the airport.

“I can sleep on the floor.” He offers, unzipping his suitcase for clean clothes to sleep in.

Digging in her own suitcase, Y/N scoffs at the idea. “Don’t be stupid, what if Bibi comes in?”

“She’s gotten better about knocking!”

“Yeah, after she saw us having sex!”

Not like that’s gonna happen again.

“We can share the bed, it’s too cold up here to sleep on the floor.” Y/N says as she grabs her toiletry bag and shuffles to his door. “You’re a diva when you don’t get good sleep.”

“I’m not a diva” Wooyoung whines after her, rebuttal bouncing off the piece of wood separating them. 

When Y/N returns from the bathroom, Wooyoung takes his turn to brush his teeth and wash his face. It’s just for a few days, he reminds himself. She leaves the day after Christmas and after he returns to the city he can tell his family they decided to part ways.

Until then, Wooyoung gathers all the patience he typically reserves for the army of eight year olds he deals with every day in an effort to not descend into insanity.

He finds her balancing on the edge of the narrow mattress, a sliver of space behind her for him to sink into. Neither says anything as the minutes tick by, both refusing to fall asleep despite the fatigue swirling over them attempting to find root. Back to back, Wooyoung stares at the wall as he tries not to listen to the gentle whoosh of Y/N breath.

December 22nd

Y/N

Shuffling into the cold kitchen, you barely crack your eyes open as you beeline for the coffee pot resting on the counter. Wooyoung’s mom greets you from the dining table, eyes scanning her newspaper as you reply with a mumble “morning.”

One would think years of twenty-four hour shifts and early mornings would make waking up easier but you’d sleep all day if given the chance; however, Wooyoung suffocating you like an octopus forced you from the heated sanctuary under the covers and downstairs. Already it was too easy to pretend you were still together. Waking up tangled in him, his face squashed against your sweater clad chest as he snored, blissfully unaware of the budding panic attack you’d calmed with a freezing shower full of choked tears.

Planting your rear in a dark oak dining chair around the table, the jolt of caffeine and sugar lulls your senses awake as you scroll your phone. 

You send a text to your little brother, confirming your parents had made it to their cruise safely while your flight crossed the country. Two weeks in the Caribbean, all expenses paid, sounded a lot better than a week in rural Colorado with your ex-boyfriend. Thankfully, there’s no cell service in the middle of the ocean; so you don’t need to explain to your mother why you were spending Christmas with Wooyoung, who she truly was never fond of to begin with.

Sometime after bed, Lisa sent a string of vaguely threatening emojis and a picture of her yorkie with the Christmas sweater you bought as an early gift. Assuring her Wooyoung had been on his best behavior so far, you switched over to skim your clogged work email.

“Do you want some breakfast, sweetie?” 

“This is fine.” You say, raising your mug.

“How can you be a doctor and try to tell me coffee is a healthy breakfast?”

“I have horrible news if you think doctors have time to do any of the things we tell people they should.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re here then because you have plenty of time now.”

Wooyoung

Wooyoung hates waking up alone. It feels inexplicably wrong. Especially after sharing an apartment with Y/N for those four years she was in medical school. There’d been plenty of road bumps but spending every night curled up under the comforter with the woman he loved made it all fade to black. He never slept as good as those years.

Except this morning, he wakes up to Y/N’s fingers brushing his hair like she always did when they’d been together, and for a second Wooyoung thinks the entire breakup must’ve been a horrible dream. Wooyoung hadn’t moved a muscle lest the passes of her short nails sending goosebumps down his spine stopped. Eventually, the lazy drags lulled him back into the land of sleep as her heart sang his favorite lullaby.

The second time Wooyoung woke up, she’d been long gone and he felt the familiar emptiness he thought he’d forgotten after all these months apart.

Trudging down the stairs with loud footsteps, Wooyoung spots his mom in the kitchen, mouth spread wide over laughter as Y/N sits at the counter, cradling a mug of steaming coffee. If Wooyoung had to bet, the ceramic mug probably contained more sugar and milk than anything.

“Morning,” he grumbles, forehead resting against the cool marble of the island as he continues to doze in front of the audience.

His mom pats his back as she passes to reach the fridge, “Go sit down, Woo. You're in my way!”

“Everyone is so mean to me,” he pouts, but rounds the counter to sit next to Y/N nonetheless, resting his cheek on her shoulder, feeling her startle at the contact. 

Wooyoung hides a satisfied smirk in her sweater when a hand starts scratching his back under his hoodie. He can almost forget their lying to everyone in the gentle passes of her cold fingers chilling against his hot skin.

 “Your brother is getting in this afternoon so we thought of letting everyone relax until this evening and then having a game night.” His mom calls over her shoulder, busy with the pan heating in the flames of the stove.

“Where’s Kyungmin?”

“He went with Bibi to volunteer at the church this morning.”

“Sucker,” Y/N mumbles for Wooyoung’s ears only, sending him into giggles.

Wooyoung’s grandmother has a particular way of guilting everyone in his family to do exactly what she wants. It’s why he’s sharing his childhood bed with his ex-girlfriend, why his dad keeps the house unbearably warm all year round, and why his little brother is no doubt undergoing military grade interrogation first thing in the morning.

Going to church with Bibi was less about being closer to God and more about being paraded in front of her old lady friends with single granddaughters. Wooyoung had been a victim until he met Y/N, each summer at home more exhausting than the last with not so subtle reminders Ms. So-and-so's granddaughter was very pretty and very available. But the second Wooyoung sent a picture to his mom of the girl he had not so casually started dating fall semester of senior year, his grandmother ceased all effort to set him up. And after she met Y/N at graduation, Wooyoung beamed with the knowledge his entire family not only approved but liked his girlfriend. 

Leaving poor Kyungmin to bare the brunt of Bibi’s well-meaning torture almost made Wooyoung feel guilty. Operative word being almost. Because Wooyoung had survived it, their older brother had survived it, and now it was Kyungmin’s turn to endure the special brand of Jung family meddling.

And the second his family finds out he's technically single, Wooyoung knows it’s only a matter of time before Bibi smothers him in his sleep for breaking up with the girl she considers family. And after, when she resurrects him from the dead, Wooyoung will be thrown to Bibi’s friends like a sacrificial lamb to starving wolves.

Stealing a sip of Y/N’s overly sweet coffee can’t clear his mouth of the sour taste.

“Wooyoung, you need to make up the guest bed for your brother.” His mom says, dropping a plate of eggs and toast on the counter for him and Y/N to share.

“What about her?” Wooyoung asks, lips stretching as he stuffs his face.

“She’s a guest!”

Washing down a harsh swallow with another sip of coffee, Wooyoung mutters a “hardly,” under his breath.

“Get your own!” Y/N snaps, shoving the mug out of his reach.

Wooyoung responds with a high pitched whine, huffing similar to a toddler rather than a man who's almost thirty. “Why are you both being so mean to me? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Rising to pour his own mug of caffeinated gold, his mom quickly claims the empty chair before she bats Wooyoung away. Claiming something about “girl time” as an excuse to get him out of the kitchen before he can truly annoy them to his fullest potential.

Y/N

When the afternoon rolls around, Bibi greets you with a fierce hug and a grandmotherly pinch to your cheek, smiling up at you as she asks for any and every update since she last saw you in April for her birthday.

Luckily, Kyungmin unconsciously rescues you as he enters the house, boxes piled high in his arms of goodies from the other ladies at church trying to court him on their granddaughter’s behalf. Rushing to his aid, you give him a gentle side hug as you walk with him to the kitchen.

“So…” you start, eyeing the stacks of cookies crowding the counter. “How was church?”

A pained groan answers you, Kyungmin dropping his head to the marble counter with a thud. 

You can’t contain your snicker, snagging one of the deformed gingerbread men to dunk in your fresh cup of coffee.

“Only a few more months,” Kyungmin mutters under his breath, the reprieve of college clearly tethering him to sanity.

Wooyoung told you all about Bibi’s ways when you started dating, thankful to no longer entertain doting mothers and grandmothers interested in him only because he was single and knew basic manners unlike many of the men lurking around Lavensville. Poor Kyungmin didn’t stand a chance if Wooyoung hadn’t managed to charm his way out until he got a girlfriend Bibi approved of.

“At least we get snacks out of it!” You clap, continuing to sort his haul as Kyungmin hides in his arms.

A tan hand sneaks over your shoulder to steal the decapitated cookie still in your grip, turning to see Wooyoung nibbling on arm as he observes the collection of cookies, fruit, and other treats.

“Come on!” You stomp your foot like a toddler.

“Tastes better when it’s stolen.” Wooyoung winks, forcing you and his brother to dry heave in unison. Your reaction isn't genuine, only an effort to hide the squeeze in your chest at how easily he can fall back into old habits after months of radio silence.

Wooyoung’s mom breezes into the kitchen, unbothered by your bickering as she types out a text message.

“Myungho and Mia land in an hour. Your dad is already on the way to pick them up.” She rattles off, more to herself than anyone else. “Kyungmin, you need to tidy all of this up. Wooyoung you already put clean sheets on the guest bed? Great. Y/N, dear, would you mind helping with dinner later?”

“Of course.”

—

Dinner consists of chili you didn’t assist with other than pulling out extra toppings from the fridge for, and everyone chattering around the table. Myungho is sharing some story about his and Mia’s neighbor who refused to close their blinds, everyone laughing at Mia’s grimace when she recalled the horrors of the “tighty-whities” incident. Each time you stay with the Jung’s you're shocked how well they get along, everyone slotting together perfectly like some cheesy sitcom family.

It’s not that your family didn’t love each other, but there was little bonding you together other than shared blood and memories. Your mom clearly favored your brother while your dad tried to make up for the snub by prioritizing you. Growing up with the invisible competition left bitter resentment to this day. At least now, after years of therapy and freedom from the suffocating expectations of your childhood home, you and your brother shared a mutual understanding that it was your parents fault for the animosity between you. Nothing could the damage already deeply ingrained, but you’d become a more united front during family affairs. 

That’d been the first time you and Wooyoung fought in your tentative relationship. He hadn’t seemed to understand how you could talk about your brother with such vitrole, confused why you weren’t more excited to see him after living in the city permanently since sophomore year. Not that you’d explained your family dynamic prior to calling him in a full blown meltdown in Washington Square Park at midnight. But Wooyoung listened. And when you brought up how perfect his family seemed, he quickly corrected your assumption.

Wooyoung knew his parents loved him and his brothers equally. But they were helping him pay thousands of dollars in tuition out of state for him to be a teacher while his older brother made six figures fresh out of college as an engineer. Even if they were happy for him, Wooyoung struggled with the internal conflict of idolizing his brother and feeling like he’d never measure up.

It’d been the first time Wooyoung cried in front of you.

The tense conversation and awkward small talk of your childhood home didn’t seem to have space here at the Jungs, nothing but laughter and warmth filling each nook and cranny. Even the awkwardness of sitting next to your ex-boyfriend, pretending he was still your partner, seemed to be stifled with the company.

“So, Y/N, when are you planning to move back to New York? You finished residency, right?” Mia asks over her glass of wine, eyes bright.

“Ugh,” you stutter, unprepared for such directness.

“Or maybe you’re thinking of moving to Boston?” She eyes Wooyoung.

“We’re, uh,” Wooyoung pipes up, frantically looking at you.

“I’m looking at jobs in the city but nothings come up yet.” 

“That sucks.” Myungho chimes, working to help their father clear the table for games.

Rather than answering, you take a long draw of your drink before rising to hide in the bathroom.

In the silence of the small half bath under the stairs, you attempt to control your stuttering breath. A few splashes of cool water on your face help shock your system but it does nothing to stop the  It’d taken years to perfect the stone-faced facade you presented to families when the outcome was less than favorable. 

A light tap at the door startles you from the nose dive your conscious has taken.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” You call, scrubbing your hands in the sink.

“It’s me,” Wooyoung chirps on the other side of the wood.

Opening the door, Wooyoung leans his shoulder against the jamb, eying you warily. Pulling him into the cramped space, you press the door closed as you lean against.

“I can’t do this, Woo. I can’t lie to them.”

 “Don’t think of it as lying! Just pretend you're back in that drama class in college!”

“Oh, you mean the class I almost failed because I couldn’t act?” You whisper harshly.

“Just let me take the lead okay? All you have to do is be normal.”

Another knock on the door startles you both. When you got so close to Wooyoung, you have no idea, but there are only a scant few inches between you and you can smell the peppermint schnapps on his breath.

“Wooyoung, Y/N. Is everything okay?”

Twisting around your stiff body, Wooyoung nudges you out of the way as he twists the handle and pulls the door inward.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answers, opening the door to a concerned Bibi. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

Bibi brushes past him, the cool back of her wrinkled hand pressing against your forehead. “Are you okay, dear?”

“I’m fine, just got a little light headed.”

One arm curls around yours, the other gently patting your back as Bibi guides you back towards the kitchen with Wooyoung trailing behind.

“You know, when I was pregnant with Wooyoung’s father I got lightheaded all the time.”

“Oh?” 

Bibi’s implication isn’t lost on you, or Wooyoung for that matter when you hear him curse as he trips behind you.

“Almost everyday I’d have to drink a gallon of ginger tea just to get out of bed.” She guides you into a seat before turning. “I’ll make you cup while the boys set everything up, okay?”

“That’s really not neccess–”

But Bibi is already filling the kettle and rummaging in the cabinets for tea bags as if you didn’t speak at all.

Wooyoung

Cursing his grandmother for making an already tense situation worse, Wooyoung shakes his head as she flutters around the kitchen. Perhaps he should be relieved Bibi moved away from asking when they were getting married and fast forwarding straight to asking for grandchildren. At least Wooyoung hadn’t been as close to being the dad as he was as being a husband. Kids were completely hypothetical; but marriage had almost been a reality.

Kyungmin is already setting up the Scrabble board and dishing out letters. Eight people was far too many so like every year they divide into pairs. Mom and Dad, Myungho and Mia, Kyungmin and Bibi, and him and Y/N.

The board begins to crowd with letters. Bibi and Kyungmin struggle to play anything worth more than fifteen points while his parents brush off challenge after challenge as they fill the board with words like “Paczki” and “Rudistid.”

“Quips, baby! Do you know how hard it is to get rid of a Q?” Mia asks everyone, high fiving Myungho next to her. 

Wooyoung exchanges a conspiratory smile with Y/N before he ruins their celebration. “I know! And when you have a U and an I and every other letter I need for QUILTING on a double word score. Plus bingo for all the tiles we don’t have…Boom 96 points.”

Arms thrown around each other's shoulders, he bounces up and down with Y/N in victory. Their cheeks squish together, matching bright tipsy grins pulled across their lips. Almost like everything is normal.

“No fair! You’re an English teacher!” Kyungmin protests, nostrils flared.

“Yeah to third graders, Minnie. You know just as many words as they do, I promise.”

Y/N doesn’t move from his hold except to take another swig of the tea his grandmother made her. Wooyoung tries not to think about what it means; having an arm curled around the back of her chair while she settles into the crook of his chest, watching his family over the top of her head, relaxing firm pressure of her body against his own. Taking the tentative peace for granted, Wooyoung greedily overindulges in the illusion of normalcy.

December 23rd

Y/N

In the cool toned light of the snowy dawn, you wake in Wooyoung’s arms once again. This time you're both on your sides, Wooyoung pressed firmly behind you as he snores in your ear. A familiar lump pokes against your rear, scorching your skin through the layers of clothes that serepate you.

Wiggling in his grip, you're ashamed of the quiet moan fleeing your lips as Wooyoung flexes his arms to hold you tighter, his hips rolling against you harshly to pin you to him.

Blame it on the months without feeling another person’s touch, or the liminal space that exists when the world is asleep and void of any real consequences, but a hollowness stings your core and dampens your panties.

Years of dating meant years of exploring one another’s bodies, discovering every spot that drove the other mad and perfecting the balance of teasing and satisfaction. You still remember the first night in your shared apartment years ago; Wooyoung blindfolded and tied to the bed, putty under your fingers as you rode him until your eyes felt permanently crossed and your legs numb. And just when you thought the night was over, sated with his cum leaking onto the sheets, Wooyoung knotted the silk scarf around your own wrist and “cleaned up” the mess between your thighs until you actually blacked out.

The very memory has you arching backwards, clenching around nothing but disappointing emptiness.

It’s wrong. So so so wrong. To fantasize about your ex-boyfriend while he’s asleep next to you, none the wiser to your stuttered breath and pounding heart.

But the way his hand on your stomach fists the fabric of your shirt, pulling you into him again, beckons you closer to the edge of temptation. Wooyoung told you to act natural. What’s more natural than enjoying some half asleep heavy petting? You’re already pretending to date him, why not reap some of the old benefits you’d missed in your time apart?

Just as you turn in Wooyoung’s arms, set on waking him with an offer even he can’t refuse, he yawns awake. Arms stretching high, he pushes you from the toasty covers and onto the floor with a bang!

“Jesus Christ!” You groan, jolting pain in your elbow shocking your system as it catches the edge of the bed frame.

Wooyoung’s head pops over the side of the mattress, “Why’re you down there?”

Scoffing, the back of your head thuds against the floor; eyes sinking shut as you fight the urge to murder him. Three more days and you’ll never have to deal with the ridiculousness that follows Wooyoung like a shadow. 

You hear, rather than see, Wooyoung exit into the hallway. Stretching your lungs around another deep breath, you follow behind him. Passing the bathroom door as you pad down stairs, you're greeted with an empty kitchen. The stove clock reads just past nine so more bodies should trickle in soon, called by the coffee you’ve begun brewing. Sending a silent prayer to the universe, you prepare for quality time with Mrs. Jung and Mia. Another day of lying to the people who treat you better than your own family. 

Wonderful.

Wooyoung

Like a teenager with his first wet dream, Wooyoung hides in the sanctuary of the bathroom.Thankfully, his brothers aren’t prone to waking before noon and he stakes his claim by locking the door and entering the steam.

Maybe dry humping his ex-girlfriend while half asleep was a bad idea but Wooyoung knows she pushed back into him with a purpose. He’d heard the whimper she tried to silence, felt her press her legs together the way she did when she was wet and needed his help.

Wooyoung hadn’t meant to launch her to the floor but overdue break up sex with the rest of the house due to wake up any minute couldn’t be a good idea. And with three more days of their charade Wooyoung needed less complications, not more.

But the knowledge of how wrong he should feel doesn’t stop the memories of them together from placating his mind as he palms his aching cock. Months of abstinence fail to dissolve Wooyoung’s photorealistic memories of his ex-girlfriend in compromising positions; bent in half to take his cock, staring down her nose as she sits in his lap. And his personal favorite, Y/N on her knees, eyes watering as her swollen lips stretch around his length, the flared head nudging the back of her throat.

The swiftnesses of his orgasm is a fatal blow against his fragile ego. Biting the meat of his fist, Wooyoung watches his cum sink down the drain. Unfortunately, the confusion pulsing through him doesn’t follow.

—

As Wooyoung descends to the living room, he spots his dad and his brothers watching a documentary on the Discovery channel. Sinking into the worn leather of their ancient couch, he cracks open one of the books he brought from home. Brave New World wasn’t light reading, but he’d been meaning to give it a try since Yeosang recommended it to him and what better way to spend his free time? 

Soon enough, his dad snores from his spot in the recliner, chin tipped back against the headrest. Kyungmin remains entranced by the colorful birds dancing across the screen while his other brother no doubt taps away at work emails cluttering his phone despite the holidays. It’s the kind of peace and content Wooyoung loved about his family. Co-existing without needing to interact, enjoying each other's presence while living their own lives.

Y/N

The acrid sting of acetone and nail polish burn your nose under the harsh white lights of the nail salon. Mia is happily chattering away, blasting through any stilled pauses or awkward silences. Bibi and Mrs. Jung sit at the counter getting their nails painted by the attendants in calm silence.

You try not to kick the young woman scrub your foot as she brushes against your ticklish nerves, squirming in your seat as she gives a tight lipped smile at your discomfort. For a week off for Christmas you cashed in every favor, picked up every single on call asked of you, nearly breaking under the demand to stretch yourself so thin as the new doctor in your department. The horrific results of hours on your feet were being ground down and clipped before you. 

Relaxing was… difficult for you. Or other peoples’ definition of relaxation was. To you, the perfect day off was running around town, hitting an early morning pilates class followed by an overpriced coffee and finding something to do in the city that offered everything. Sitting still was a necessary evil to get to and fro but it left you to stew with your thoughts you preferred to drown in an overwhelming weight of activity.

“Y/N,” Mia calls, bringing you to turn and look at her. 

Her usually glowing face is apprehensive, lip worried between her teeth and eyes downcast.

“Yeah?” 

“You work with kids, right?”

“All day.” You laugh, trying to break the tension.

Mia hesitates, struggling to find the words she wants to say. “After all the stuff you’ve seen, do you still want them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you and Wooyoung think you’ll have kids someday?”

“I mean not anytime soon considering…”

That we aren’t together. You finish in your mind.

But Mia assumes the unspoke truth is the fact you’re supposed to be living in Boston while Wooyoung is living in New York.

“I mean of course, but like you guys both work with kids and I feel like you know the worst that could happen! My friend Mina just had her baby and she says she can’t sleep. She just sits up all night watching him because she’s afraid somethings gonna happen.”

“Mia, are you and Myungho?”

“Not yet,” she smiles. “But we’ve been talking about it more and I know I want that with him but I’m just—”

“Scared?”

She nods sheepishly.

Hesitating as you weigh your next words carefully, you think about all the conversations you’ve had with worried parents. Most of the kids and parents you met were under less than positive circumstances. Babies with underdeveloped lungs, toddlers who couldn’t breath from just sitting up. You’d be lying if it didn’t make you question having your own. The powerlessness you felt when no matter how hard you worked to fix things it was all for naught. 

But all of the bad days don't outweigh the good ones. When NICU preemies got to leave the ward with their families for the first time. Having a child take their first full breath because their medication was finally starting to work. The plethora of thank you cards hanging on your fridge and displayed in your office from the families you’d helped.

And you remember all the stories Wooyoung told you about his classroom. Kids who could barely read falling in love with the books he gave to them, hounding him for more stories. When he made way with a problem child, watching them begin to excel under his gentle guidance. Giggling at Wooyoung hiding his tears at the end of year advancement ceremony when all his third graders became fourth graders every year.

“I think being scared means you care. And you can always call me if you’re worried, no matter what happens.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.” Mia laughs.

“You’re gonna be a great mom.” You whisper, squeezing her arm.

Mia squeezes your hand back, “I always wondered what it’d be like to have a sister.”

“Me too.”

You look away as Mia blinks, breathing away the wetness glossing your own eyes.

—

Upon returning home, you find all four men passed out in various positions in the living room. Mr. Jung in the recliner that predates your birth, mouth wide open and glasses crooked on his nose. Sprawled across the floor is Kyungmin, gangly teenage limbs starfished to the edges of the carpet. Wooyoung and Myungho share a blanket across their laps, both with their backs on opposite sides of the couch. 

You four try to contain your laughter at the sight. If there was any doubt about who fathered the Jung boys, the shaggy black hair and symphony of identical snores would easily lay those rumors to rest. 

Bibi shuffles down the hall to her room, claiming a nap to be a great idea after the pampering from the nail salon. Mia and Mrs. Jung head into the kitchen, each teething with bulging bags of groceries for tonight's gingerbread competition.

But you can’t take your eyes off Wooyoung. The only time he ever looked so peaceful was when he was sleeping, face positively boyish and missing the stress induced wrinkles from managing a class of eight year olds. The urge to cross to him and kiss the freckle on his lower lip floods your brain but you’re able to stuff it down when he whines in his sleep, twisting to re-adjust on the lumpy couch.

Following the shuffle of plastic bags echoing from the kitchen, you busy yourself with unpacking the boxes of pre-made gingerbread houses, candy, and tubes of icing. Neatly organizing the packages on the counter, Mrs. Jung pushes you and Mia upstairs as she starts to prepare dinner.

The clock on the stove shows it’s closing in on three, giving you enough time to shower and have a nap of your own before the mayhem of the evening.

Cranking the faucet to the highest setting, you waste no time waiting for it to heat as you jump under the cold water. Wooyoung called you a psychopath the first time he witnessed you shower routine but you’d been busy applying for medical school, working in the student health center, and tutoring in the biology lab, all while maintaining a perfect GPA in the fall semester of your senior year; you didn’t have time for the simple pleasures of wasting precious minutes while your apartment’s old pipes struggled to carry hot water through the faucet. And as they say, old habits die hard.

The chill brings sharp clarity with it. It’d only been two days and you’d already fallen into the same bickering as before, been tempted to kiss him when no one was around to fool, and nearly fucked him in his childhood bed. 

Three more days. You think, shivering lessening as steam billows around you. 

Then you can leave this entire maddening ordeal behind you forever.

Wooyoung

The squeeze of Wooyoung’s heart threatens to topple him to his knees at the sight of Y/N curled up in his bed. His old college hoodie circles her face, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed at whatever dream world she’s lost in. 

Wooyoung aches to wake her up with innocent kisses as he holds her to his chest, fingers ironing out the wrinkles of her forehead as she breaches the surface of sleep. To smile at her whines of protest of being interrupted from a rare opportunity to rest without worrying about work or some other responsibility.

But what Wooyoung wants, he doesn’t deserve. As bold and indulgent as he might be in front of the prying eyes of his family, he isn’t cruel. Even if it kills him not to touch her like he used to be able to, Wooyoung won’t subject her to the torture of his feelings. It’s the least he can do for pulling Y/N into this sham after ending their relationship without explanation. 

“Y/N,” he whispers, fingers prodding her shoulder. “Gotta wake up.”

She responds with a throaty groan, pulling the edge of the blanket over her head to hideaway.

“C’mon it's almost time for dinner.” 

“Youngie, it’s cold.” Y/N protests as he tries to lift the covers.

Grinding his teeth against the nickname, Wooyoung continues to pry the quilt from her iron grip.

“I can get Bibi up here.”

Flying into a seated position, she blinks against the overhead light. “I’m up!” 

“That’s what I thought.” Wooyoung smirks, crossing to the door. “Let’s go sunshine.”

Y/N mutters empty threats under her breath the entire way to the kitchen, so close she’s cast in his shadow under the threat of Bibi’s wake up methods. Nothing like a woman pushing eighty banging pots over your head to get the blood pumping.

Everyone else already crowds the table, picking apart the trays of snacks as they organize their supplies kits. 

Jung family tradition requires everyone, sans Bibi, to decorate their own house according to the year's theme. After an hour, she picks her favorite and the winner has the honor of opening the first present on Christmas morning. Y/N demolished Myungho’s long standing winning streak the first year she entered the competition; Mia taking her place the next year in Y/N’s absence. Since then, Kyungmin reigned supreme despite his creation looking like a haunted house no matter what the theme was.

“Alright,” Bibi stands once Wooyoung and Y/N have taken their seats at the end of the table. “This year's theme is movies. On your mark, get set. Go!”

A room full of adults, plus Kyungmin who's only a few months short, should act with a sense of decorum and dignity. A fair and clean competition in the name of holiday spirit, family, and comradery.

But Jung house rules mean cheating is not only expected, it’s encouraged.

The table is warzone. Icing dripping off the sides and onto the tile floor. Candies trailing everywhere like shrapnel. Mia hides a piece of Myungho’s roof in her lap, and their mom steals the level their dad insists on using every year. Even Kyungmin slowly starts hoarding the bags of colorful royal frosting one by one in the pocket of his hoodie before anyone can notice.

Wooyoung catches Y/N attempting to eat his bag of gumdrops in his periphery. Their half gone by the time he’s noticed but he simply laughs under his breath. What she doesn’t know is that those are her gumdrops and his are stashed under the table since they sat down.

The little sugar addict is nothing if not predictable.

Most of the houses are beginning to take shape, albeit much more loose definitions of whatever each person decided to do. Kyungmin’s house is poop green with a red roof, streaks of color patchy against the brown cookie sheets. His mom sticks with the traditional decorations instructed on the packaging, no doubt prepared to argue it somehow fits the theme despite being the same every year. Mia’s is laced garishly with pink and pastels, while Myungho crumbles pieces of his for whatever godforsaken reason.

Wooyoung focuses on decorating his tiny gingerbread man with black slashes and stripes.

“Time!” yells Bibi as she whacks the bottom of a pot with a wooden spoon, everyone drops their last piece of candy before hands fly up.

As always, his mom manages to be the only one to finish due to years of practice. Everyone else’s houses are… interesting.

“Mine’s the Grinch,” Kyungmin says.

“The Grinch?” Y/N asks, confused by the horrendous green and red abomination.

“See, you get it!” 

Shaking her head, Y/N points to her own monstrosity. “Okay, so the yellow skittles are the yellow brick road and the green on the house is meant to look like the Emerald City from Wizard of Oz.”

Perhaps if the Emerald City burned to the ground and became ruins but everyone nods at the vision.

“Mine is supposed to be Barbie's Dream house.” says Mia, gesturing to the mound of pink frosting sliding from the roof.

Myungho slams a toy dinosaur from their childhood on top of his pile of cookie pieces before declaring, “Jurassic Park.”

“Home Alone,” his mom chimes.

A chorus of groans around the table answer.

His dad’s is covered in chocolate bars and marshmallows. It looks decent but Wooyoung doesn’t get it until he tells them it’s “Willy Wonka.”

Nodding in appreciation, Wooyoung presents his.

“Nightmare Before Christmas.”

The gray and black icing swirl to make a ugly blob, but Wooyoung will argue it’s exactly what he was going for. Especially with his miniscule Jack Skellington perched in the yard.

Bibi circles the table, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at each entry. She shakes her head at Kyungmin, clearly disappointed in his failure this year. 

“Eunkyung wins!” She cheers, raising his mom’s hand like she won a boxing match.

Claps and whoops fill the kitchen as she beams, proud to win a second time in the history of the competition. 

“Wooyoung, put the winning house on the mantel please.” His dad asks, already moving towards the pantry for trash bags.

“Your majesty.” Wooyoung bows in front of his mom, laughing when she slaps his shoulder.

What he fails to realize is Y/N is leaving the same door he is, and that a sprig of green leaves sit just above their heads.

“Mistletoe!” his mom squeals.

“Huh?” Grunts Y/N, confused.

Wooyoung looks up and spots the infuriating piece of decoration, another pair of eyes trailing after his own. 

If they were still dating, Wooyoung would swoop her into his arms and make an entire production of giving her a short peck on the cheek, his parents were watching after all, while Y/N laughed at his ridiculousness. But now he hesitates as he looks into her eyes, barely missing the nod as she leaves a brief kiss on his lips before turning and leaving the room.

Even under the brief contact, Wooyoung’s lips feel like they’ve been zapped with lightning; his entire body on high alert. So lost in his own world, Wooyoung doesn’t realize he watches her walk away until she’s turning a corner and is out of sight. 

Remembering the gingerbread house still in his hand, Wooyoung continues into the living room to place it front and center on the mantel. 

Y/N

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! You think, watching yourself in the mirror as you brush your teeth.

You’d spent the rest of the night sweaty and flushed, stuttering like an idiot because of a G-rated kiss with your ex-boyfriend for crying out loud. 

What was wrong with you? 

It was like the butterflies of the beginning of your relationship were waking from dormancy, demanding to let loose in your chest.

But none of this is real. Wooyoung only reached out so Bibi wouldn’t be upset over a last minute cancellation. He didn’t ask to explain why he ended your relationship so suddenly. Didn’t try to weasel his way back in and kiss everything better. All the touching and joking you’d missed so much were nothing more than an elaborate plan for Wooyoung to not be seen as the bad guy by his family. His way of delaying the inevitable. 

And you’d fallen right into the mess subconsciously hoping it might have meant something more. 

The foaming residue of toothpaste splashes against the porcelain sink as you finish washing up. Hiding in the bathroom can only buy you so much time before you have to face Wooyoung again, a new feast of tension waiting for you on a silver platter.

His tiny room is notably empty. Wooyoung nowhere to be seen as you burrow into the blankets. Hopefully, he stays away until you're fully unconscious and able to avoid the entire ordeal.

—

A draft of frigid air invading the warm haze under your mountain of quilts wakes you. Wooyoung shushes your indignant protest, pulling the top layers off. His weight doesn’t dip the bed behind you. Instead, you listen as he shuffles around, the dull thud of pillows and blankets hitting the floor. When he quiets, you turn to see him curled into a ball on a makeshift sleeping matt next to the bed. 

The questions burn on the tip of your tongue. Why is he sleeping on the floor? Was he that upset about the kiss? 

But you don’t ask and Wooyoung doesn’t provide an answer.

December 24th

Wooyoung

Christmas eve is Wooyoung’s favorite part of the holidays. Not even a poor night sleep on the freezing unforgiving floor can dull his excitement. 

He’d risen early, sneaky out of the room the second the sun peaked from the horizon and illuminated the space. Y/N slept soundly, back turned away from him as he evaded her successfully.

A fresh powder of snow fell sometime in the night. So with a hot cup of coffee and a need to get lost in something mindlessly physical, Wooyoung heads to the garage for a shovel to clear the sidewalk and driveway.

Wooyoung knows he should apologize to her. She’d basically avoided him after they got caught under the mistletoe, scurrying upstairs the second it was polite for her to do so. Technically, she kissed him. But the entire situation wouldn’t exist if he didn’t put his foot in his mouth.

Plus, the entire ordeal of yesterday morning couldn’t be ignored. And Wooyoung was ashamed he didn’t feel ashamed.

Mind numb in the cold monotony of moving slush from the concrete to the yard, muscles burning at the strain, Wooyoung loses track of time as the sun moves across the sky.

His dad finds him shoveling the end of the driveway, pants soaked and breath heaving. 

“You okay, kid?” the older man asks, sipping his thermos.

“Fine,” Wooyoung pants. “Why?”

“Because you’re out here.”

“Just helping out.”

“Wooyoung.” A sharp sternness to his tone as his dad’s gloved hands halt the shovel.

He hates that voice. Wooyoung’s dad was soft spoken and good natured, the quietest member of their boisterous family. Always gentle with three rowdy sons that constantly pushed the endless bounds of his patience. Wooyoung can count on one hand the times his dad used this voice on him. Apparently now is one of those times.

Wooyoung looks his dad in the eye before lying to his face, “I’m fine. Really.”

Eying his son skeptically, Wooyoung’s dad clearly doesn’t believe him. 

“Alright.” he drawls. “But come inside, your mom made pancakes.”

Y/N

“Come on Kyungmin, we don’t want to be late!” Bibi calls from the hallway.

In front of you, Kyungmin blanches; terrified of another day surrounded by prodding grandmothers. He looks at you for help, but you offer a sympathetic smile and a shrug of shoulders. If only he knew how much torture you were being subjected to in the name of keeping Bibi happy.

Wooyoung had been scarce since the early hours of the morning, slaving away at clearing the driveway alone. He made a brief appearance at breakfast and lunch but found any excuse to stay faraway from whatever room you planted yourself in. 

Taking the hint, you set up camp in the kitchen. Laptop screen reflecting off your blue-light glasses as you skimmed another journal article about forced oscillation technique and impulse oscillometry. Fascinating as it was to you, it’s just boring enough to anyone else to keep them away; allowing you to waste away the entire afternoon in the most productive way possible.

The sun is already setting by the time others begin to trickle into the kitchen. Mia begins filling snack trays for the trademark movie night; half sweet, half savory. While Myungho sets to work on a batch of mulled cider they picked up at the market.

Kyungmin stomps into the kitchen with a fuming Bibi hot on his heels.

“They’re nice girls, Kyungmin. There was no need to be rude!”

Your wide eyes meet Mia's twin expressions of shock. The youngest was a sweet kid; perhaps he had an attitude sometimes, but he was a teenager after all. To hear he’s been out right rude and in front of Bibi no less, comes as a surprise.

“You’re crazy!” Kyungmin yells, arms waving wildly before he flees to his room.

The sudden silence of the kitchen is rattling. No one moves or speaks as Bibi starts organizing random objects and mail on the counter, clearly uncomfortable with her grandson’s outburst.

Slipping from your chair, you turn to follow in the direction you know he’s bound for.

—

Winter in Colorado is brutal enough, but the wind slicing across your cheeks as you teeter out a tiny window onto the roof at the back of the house makes you regret wearing only a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. 

Kyungmin’s lone figure is illuminated in the silver moonlight. A telltale stench fills your nostrils despite the thick smoke evaporating in the wind the second it leaves his mouth. Waddling towards him on your butt, you stop next to him. He passes the glass bowl into your waiting hand without a peep. 

You take a long hit before speaking, allowing the tingle of THC to flutter through your veins. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, cradling your knees to your chest in an effort to conserve warmth.

“No.”

“Okay.”

The thick woods fencing in the backyard bends in the wind. Pine trees shake the fronds like feathers, fluffing up as the wind flutters by. A lone swing, attached to a rickety playground set, swings back and forth. It’s beautiful and eerie. Only your breath and the occasional cough from Kyungmin disturbs the fragile place.

“I can’t wait to go to college.” Kyungmin mutters from under his hood.

“Have you heard from anywhere yet?”

“No. But I don’t care where I go as long as I’m not here.”

“Was it that bad?”

“She’s crazy! All of them in that fucking church are insane!”

“Wooyoung told me the same thing.” You chuckle.

“They just stare at me. It’s creepy.” 

“Yeah, that sounds pretty creepy.”

“And Andi just laughs whenever I try to tell her about it.”

“Who’s Andi?”

“A friend.” 

Kyungmin’s tense response tells you Andi isn’t just a friend at all.

“What's she like?”

“She’s nice. She’s in my history class at school.”

“Oh?”

“And she got a scholarship to play soccer in Georgia.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“So you like her?”

“I mean, of course I do. She’s my best friend.”

“Kyungmin…”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s so out of my league.” Kyungmin sighs.

“Why do you think that?”

“She’s smart, and she’s athletic, and she’s funny. She wouldn’t see me like that.”

“Okay.” You nod, “Well, when Bibi started pimping you out at church, what did Andi do?”

“She got really mad when I went on a date with one of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“She didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I thought she was just, like, on her period or something.”

Shaking your head, you turn to face the ignorant boy. “Alright, first things first. Never, under any circumstances, assume a girl is mad at you because she’s on her period. Ask your brothers or your dad how that's worked out for them. Second, how would you feel if Andi went on a date with someone?”

Face twisting in disgust, Kyungmin grabs the piece again to take a hit.

“Exactly. Maybe you should ask her on a date.”

Kyungmin snorts at the idea, “Yeah, sure.”

“Party out here?” Myungo calls from the window.

Turning, you spot Wooyoung and Mia peaking around his broad shoulders.

“Yeah but it’s B.Y.O.W.”

“Perfect.” He calls back, folding in half to step on the roof.

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“Okay.” Kyungmin promises as he links his pinky with yours.

Mia and Myungho land on Kyungmin’s other side, a joint visible in Mia’s dainty fingers. Wooyoung plops down next to you, lifting the bowl from Kyungmin and dumping the ash on to the roof.

As he focuses on packing it, you get your first glimpse of him all day. The tip of his nose is red and he keeps sniffling, no doubt from the hours he spent outside or in the garage doing who knows what. Wooyoung’s hair is a mess of tangles, sticking this way and that in the wind and you choke on the urge to straighten it for him. 

You’ve never been good at staying mad at him, even when he’s clearly in the wrong. And what’s worse is Wooyoung knows it. 

Wisps of smoke pour from his nostrils before he passes you the bowl again. Shaking your head, Kyungmin plucks it from his brother’s fingers.

You feel Wooyoung’s breath caress the shell of your ear before he speaks.

“What are you guys doing out here?” He whispers.

“Bibi.” You whisper back.

Wooyoung nods lazily, eyes glazed already. Landing on his back, he looks up to the sky. 

The pale light sharpens his features. Strange how all three brothers looked so similar yet different. Kyungmin still had the round cheeks of adolescents, limbs gangly as he towers over his brothers at only seventeen. Myungho was broader than both but only a fraction taller than Wooyoung, square jaw and cropped hair. But Wooyoung was all angles and sharpness. Even from the first night he approached you in that dingy karaoke bar near campus, you knew he was handsome. But now he looks ethereal. Like some beautiful demon coming to take your soul and laugh all the while. 

Eventually you all end up shoulder to shoulder, each lost and thought and staring at the lonely full moon above. Wooyoung’s hand brushes your own, sending throbbing jolts of electricity through your body. Hooking your pointer finger around his, Wooyoung sighs next to you before settling. 

It somehow hurts worse than if he would have let go.

Wooyoung

Exhaustion and pot nearly knock Wooyoung out as he passes his bedroom door. An early night, lost in the land of dreams where he doesn’t have to think about why he can’t look Y/N in the eye; why he felt a punch in the gut when he spotted her on the roof with his little brother, taking care of him like Kyungmin was her own family; how he wanted to cry when her fingers circled his own. 

Wooyoung’s attempt to uncomplicate his life only seemed to tighten the noose around his neck.

Jung family tradition dictates a Christmas movie with gross amounts of sugary snacks on Christmas Eve. The tradition started before Wooyoung could remember but it’d been his favorite all the same. What little kid didn’t cherish the opportunity to wake up to Santa dropping presents under the tree? Not that he or his brothers managed to stay awake more than half way through whatever movie his parents pulled from the dusty DVD collection on the bookshelf. But as he grew older, Wooyoung appreciated the uninterrupted time he was gifted to spend with his family, especially with each of them living in separate corners of the country.

The new set of matching pajamas every year were simply a bonus.

This year’s boast a deep green with a vintage Christmas light pattern. The inner flannel is positively delightful against Wooyoung’s freezing skin, lulling him into a light doze as leans against the couch between Y/N’s spread legs. 

Kyungmin sprawls in his usual place on the rug in front of the coffee table, glazed eyes glued to Will Ferell terrorizing New York City in yellow tights. Mia and Myungho are off on the other side of the couch, Bibi taking the middle seat. His parents are snug in his dad’s recliner, resembling two teenagers rather than the fifty year olds they really are. Adorably disgusting how in love they still are. 

Resting his cheek against Y/N’s knee, Wooyoung twists his hands in his lap. He can’t touch her. Not sober and absolutely not high out of his mind like he is at this very moment. Because if he starts, Wooyoung is too weak to stop himself. And considering the way she keeps staring at him every time she thinks he isn’t looking, Wooyoung doesn’t think Y/N would want him to stop either. 

—

Bedtime is the same awkward dance as before. His entire family pulls each other into tight hugs, mostly aided by the edibles Myungho slipped them before they all descended downstairs. Calls of “Love you,” and “see you in the morning,” land against his back as he trails behind Y/N.

They get ready for bed in the dark, flashes of bare skin visible in the light trickling in from the cracked curtains covering the lonely window. Turning to face the wall, Wooyoung plugs in his phone while he listens for her to land on the mattress.

When the shuffling ceases, he finds her in a nest on the floor, back towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“You took the floor last night.”

“You don’t hav–”

“Just go to bed.” She bites, voice fragile.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he huffs, temper rising as he crosses to the other side of the mattress.

“I’m fine.” 

“Just take the bed.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Sitting up, Wooyoung barely makes out her scowl. “Why do I need to explain everything to you?”

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m stubborn? Me?”

“Considering you’re the one on the floor while the bed is empty, yes you’re the stubborn one.”

“Because I’m fine here!”

Wooyoung wades through the quicksand of his brain for a response. Upon finding none, he flops on the pile of blankets next to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Now shut up.”

“Wooyoung,” she sighs.

No more energy to fight, Wooyoung burrows deeper into the mound of quilts; set to sleep next to her on the floor if she continues to refuse the bed. If he was a diva on poor sleep, Y/N was a menace. She’d cave eventually when her hips ached from the painful stiffness of the unbending wood.

Except Wooyoung can’t sleep. All of his nerves are heightened next to her. His entire left side burns in her heat, acutely aware of every shift of her weight or rustle of the blankets. Wooyoung’s lips still burn from their kiss. A childish brush against his mouth but he can’t stop replaying it in his mind over and over. And when he thinks about yesterday morning, when he dreamed about her and then woke up flushed against her, it all makes his blood rush to his head and a weight settles on the back of his tongue.

When Y/N stops twitching beneath the covers behind him, breath even and shallow, Wooyoung finally follows her into sleep.

December 25th

Wooyoung

Christmas morning brings Bibi through the upstairs hallway with a familiar wooden spoon and small tin pot. Wooyoung hears the first crash slide under the crack beneath his door, an ice bath to his system.

He’s still on the floor, a foot between him and Y/N. 

“Get up.” Wooyoung shakes her, not wasting a second as he stands to dive into the still made bed.

She groans in the morning light, eyes crusted as she looks for the disturbance.

Another shrill beat sings through the hall. Much closer to Wooyoung’s door than last time.

“Shit!” 

Y/N tackles him into the pillows. Both attempting to look natural as the door rebounds against the wall, a well rested Bibi standing in the doorway.

“RISE AND SHINE!” His grandmother wails, drumming a rhythmless beat and she turns to stalk towards Kyungmin’s room at the end of the hall.

Dual sighs of relief leave their lips, Y/N rising to stalk to the bathroom without looking back.

Y/N

Mrs. Jung’s victory grants her the privilege of opening the first present this morning. Everyone gathers around, matching states of messy hair and bed-wraggled pajamas, to shred shiny wrapping paper at ten in the morning.

Her first gift is the large rectangle box addressed from her sons, all of them failing to stifle their matching laughter as she slowly unwraps the picture frame. You and Mia had helped arrange the picture last time everyone was together for Bibi’s birthday, sneaking out of the house with the excuse of seeing a movie when you drove to the mall for an old school photoshoot at the department store. 

Wooyoung’s parents join in the giggling bouncing of the walls as they take in all three boys dressed head to toe in denim, arms wrapped around on another’s waists prom-date style as they stare dead faced at the camera. The cherry on top is their matching bowl cuts, making them resemble a nineties boy band. Another frame slips out of the paper, a similar photo of you and Mia except her chin rests on top of your head, eyes obscured by yellow tinted sunglasses.

“Oh my god,” Mrs. Jung guffaws. “You all are ridiculous.”

Passing the frames around the room, Mrs. Jung takes turns hugging her sons along with you and Mia. 

“Oh, my girls. Thank you for putting up with them.” She whispers into your ears, Mia on her left and you on her right. 

You refuse to think about how tomorrow you’ll leave their house for the last time as you squeeze her back tightly. 

As the youngest, Kyungmin is charged with passing out rounds of presents while Mr. Jung collects the discarded ribbons and paper. Thankfully, bringing a gift for Wooyoung wasn’t an expectation. Why sacrifice sacred luggage space to exchange gifts with someone who lives in your backyard? Mia and Myungho never brought their gifts for one another, and you and Wooyoung followed suit.

But that didn’t stop you from braving the hoards of the city in an effort to last minute Christmas shopping before flying out. Bibi loves the fancy lotion you brought her, and Kyungmin is more than satisfied with the promise of whatever new video he can afford with a Playstation gift card. Wooyoung’s parents leaf through the books you bought in a last ditch effort to provide some sort of parting gift. Myungho screams as he unwraps the mug with “IBS: I be shitting” blasted across the front and Mia opens each tin of specialty tea for a whiff of the herbal scents.

Hours later, surrounded in the disarray of boxes and bows, Mrs. Jung announces it’s time for brunch. Everyone takes turns washing up or teetering upstairs to brush their teeth but she pulls you aside before you have a chance to follow.

“Y/N, we have one last gift for you.” She whispers, removing a small box from behind her back. “I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone just in case but I want you to know how much we all love you.”

You pull out a cardboard box and a thick card.

“To my future Daughter in Law,

There isn’t a single day I don’t thank the stars for how lucky my son is to find someone as incredible as you. He’s a better person because of you and our family is so blessed to have you in it. I was lucky enough to be given three amazing sons but now I’m fortunate enough to have two daughters as well. 

Love, Mrs. Jung”

Each word is a new punch to the gut, tears swelling in the corner of tight eyes. Focusing on opening the box in an effort not to break down in the hallway, you unveil a simple silver chain with a knotted pendant. The same you’ve seen Mia and Mrs. Jung wear on special occasions.

“Oh, I can’t—”

“Nope. I won’t hear a word of it! It’s family tradition. Bibi gave me mine, and now I get to give you yours.”

“But I really—”

But Wooyoung’s mom is a force to be reckoned with. Slipping the delicate piece of jewelry out of the box, she slips it around your neck and straightens it before you can stop her. When she’s happy, you fall into her arms in a fierce hug as you weep into her shoulder.

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, patting your back comfortingly; clearly thinking you're overcome with emotion at officially being a part of the family.

You don’t correct her. Why ruin such a heartfelt moment by shattering the illusion now that you're so close to the end? Instead, you take comfort in her embrace, willing the tears to stop with the same principle you use in the hospital: save the crying for the shower.

Stepping out of the hug, you allow her to wipe away the trails of tears marring your cheeks with soft swipes of her thumbs, a soft smile at her tutting over you. Mrs. Jung pulls you into one last bear hug before pushing you upstairs to compose yourself.

Wooyoung stares as you pass him on the stairs, evidently alarmed at the evidence of your crying. But you keep your eyes down as you trudge by. 

Wooyoung

Wooyoung can’t help but worry at what happened between presents and breakfast to make Y/N so upset but his mom keeps squeezing her shoulder and Bibi just smiles knowingly in her direction. The new necklace circling her neck is familiar but Wooyoung can’t place why and he hasn’t had the opportunity to ask. 

Crowding into the living room as the sun sets, he doesn’t miss the way Mia intertwines Y/N into a fierce squeeze, practically bouncing off the walls with giddiness. He doesn’t have time to ask what it’s about before another movie is starting on the TV to wind down for the evening.

He can feel the tension rolling off her in waves next to him. Muscles locked and leg jittering the same way it did before she had to take her MCAT or open exam results. When the screen fades to black, Y/N is up the stairs and out of sit before he can blink.

Following her up, Wooyoung finds her perched on the edge of his bed, fingers stroking the pendant resting between her collarbones. Shut in the quiet of his room, Wooyoung asks the question that’s buzzed in his veins all day.

“What’s the necklace about?”

“Your mom gave it to me.”

“I thought so.” He nods. “But why was everyone acting weird about it?”

Rather than answer, Y/N hands him a note. Wooyoung recognizes the tight cursive of his mom’s handwriting. Regret trickles down his spine and bubbles over with each word. He’d never meant to be cruel when he asked Y/N to come here but then again he didn’t think about how hard this must have been for her. To secretly say goodbye to his family and their relationship after she was already working through it on her own. He should have known she was bottling it all up, the same way he was prone to.

“I didn’t realize she’d—”

“Why did you break up with me?” She asks, still staring at the floor.

Regret transforms into the shame that’s eaten him alive for months. Wooyoung’s mouth won’t form the truth for what he did so he lies.

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!” She bites, glazed eyes blazing as she rounds on him. “Eight years. We dated for eight years and you think you can tell me you don’t know why?”

“We dated for eight years and you didn’t even say anything when I did it! You just left.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stay?”

“You just gave up.”

“No, you gave up!” her voice cracks, finger pointing accusingly. “I didn’t even know we were having problems.”

“Boston was always a problem!”

“Which I was already planning to fix.”

Wooyoung recoils from the invisible smack against his face. Is that what she was planning to tell him when he interrupted her? 

“What?”

“That night I was trying to tell you I got a job in the city. That I was moving back.”

“You’re joking.”

Shoulder sagging under the weight of their mess, Y/N falls back onto the bed.“It was gonna be my last weekend trip down.”

Sniffles and desperate breaths fill the space. And Wooyoung gathers the courage to tell her the truth.

“I was planning to propose.” He can see her head turn in his peripheral, but he’ll lose the gaul if he sees her face so Wooyoung stares at the wall ahead as he speaks. “I had the ring for a year. And I was gonna ask you but I…” he trails off.

“You what?”

“I got scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of everything. I thought of how much we’d have to change, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to give anything up to be with me.”

“Wooyoung, I never felt like that.” She objects, shaking her head. “I hated Boston. Do you think I was moving back to the city for you?”

“Kind of, I—”

“I have my own life there. I lived there for seven years! I was always planning to move back.”

“Then why were you being so secretive about it?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you’d been stressed and I ddin’t want to add something else to your plate and… because I was worried if I brought it up too soon something would go wrong.”

“I still have it by the way.”

“What?”

“The ring.”

“Why?”

“I think some part of me feels like if I let it go then it’s really over.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want to get back together?”

“I didn’t want to break up to begin with.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Because I’m not good enough for you! I’ve never been good enough and I know you say it's not true but it is. I’m a public school teacher with shit pay and an apartment I can barely afford. That’s all I can offer you and it isn’t close enough to what you deserve.”

“Do you think I’m that shallow?” Y/N fumes, clearly not understanding what Wooyoung meant. “Why do you think you get to decide what's good enough for me?”

“Because someone has too! One day you’re gonna wake up and realize you can have anyone you want.”

“Not anyone.”

Y/N

The suffocating atmosphere of Wooyoung’s room pushes you into the chilly shower stall. In the stifling steam and perfumed bubbles, you quietly let all the emotions of the day run wild; eyes puffy, face swollen, and snot dripping from your nose to be washed away by the boiling streams of water. You hide for as long as possible, shivering as the heated water runs out and frigid ropes blast your skin. Unable to endure anymore of the stinging icicles, you exit the stall red nosed and blue lipped. 

Wooyoung sits on the edge of the bed with his back to the door. You watch his shoulder tense, rising closer to his ears as you pad closer to lay down. 

You’re too tired to sleep on the floor, too exhausted to fight with him again. So you curl under the covers, body sliding back when Wooyoung joins you. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, tracing his index finger along the knobs of your spine, attempting to comfort you the same way he always had.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.”

You both stay there in the silent darkness, their breaths and the hum of the heater keeping absolute stillness at bay. The tears you split in the shower followed you to the pillow, running down your cheeks as you try to keep the worst at bay. Wooyoung doesn’t stop tracing shapes between your shoulder blades, the worn cotton of your sleep shirt rubbing against your heated skin. How is the source of your distress the same as the source of your comfort?

Turning to face him, you realize how close he’s moved. Scant inches separate your chests, the heat of his legs licking your own bare ones under the blankets. You spot his own tears, eyes swollen and red, thick lashes clumped together as they fall.

If your love for Wooyoung was an ocean, you’d be lost at sea for years. 

He watches you watch him, hands finding one anothers and tangling together. When Wooyoung opens his mouth, pausing as a sniffle breaks free, you surge up to connect your lips.

Startling for only a second, he eagerly kisses you back. Tears and spit gloss your lips as you dip your tongue into his mouth, licking against his teeth before retreating to bruise his lower lip with your own. Wooyoung manages to roll on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as if you plan to up and leave at any second. You respond by crushing your lips together a fraction harder, attempting to communicate the longing and hurt words can’t convey.

The hem of his shirt finds its way between your fingers, moving further up his stomach with each insistent tug. Wooyoung’s own hands busy themselves, one buried in the hairs at the base of your scalp, cradling your head to move you this way and that as he continues exploring your mouth. The other wrinkles the pillow case beside you, muscles rippling as he holds himself over you. 

When you wiggle your hips, thighs spreading to cradle him between, he dives to your neck. Blood rushes to the surface as he nips and bruises the delicate skin below your jaw, scorching pants raising goosebumps in its wake. He shudders when your nails scratch down his abdomen, thumb dipping under the band of his pajama pants.

It's been nearly eight months without this. Two months before your breakup, in this very bed while the rest of the house was asleep as Wooyoung laughed into your neck while you drunkenly whined for him to touch you.

As familiar as those memories are, this time is entirely new. 

Wooyoung’s thumb, knowing and skilled, brushes across one of your nipples over your shirt, using the rough fabric to his advantage; stiffing it to a tight peak before allowing the weight to settle in his palm. Arching your back, you remove the piece of cloth separating you. Wooyoung barely allows you space to slough it over your head before he’s back on you, latching to the side of your neglected breast as he curls his hips into yours coursley. Your body reacts on nothing but instinct; back arching closer, thighs spreading wider as his knees carry him further down the mattress.

Reverent caresses of his hands lead him to the apex of your thighs, his breath fanning the damp patch of your shorts just before Wooyoung tucks his thumbs into the elastic to nudge them down, breathing deeply as he bares you for his eyes.

A tentative lick up length of your slit pulls a pathetic whimper from the back of your mouth. The flat of his tongue lave against your engorged clit, slow and torturous as Wooyoung indulges in your taste. Rough palms slide beneath the meat of your thighs, lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. A harsh suck against the bundle of nerves locks your muscles tightly around Wooyoung’s head but he takes it in stride as he drops a hand to slip his fingers inside your clenching hole. Curling the pads of his digits upwards, you feel him in your throat as you bite back moans. Your fingers twist in Wooyoung’s inky hair at the delicious torture, hips rocking into his eager mouth as he pants against you; refusing to separate from your drenched center. 

When his unoccupied hand slips into your own, a death grip on your entertwined fingers, you fall apart. Your chapped lips nearly bleed from effort to remain quiet, writhing in Wooyoung’s hold as he continues to lap up everything you offer him.

A final suck against your clit has you scrambling to pull his mouth to your own, tasting yourself on his soaked cheeks and tongue.

“Please,” you whisper into his mouth.

Wooyoung responds by kissing you gently, the passion curling your toes while he fists his length before allowing the flared head to nudge your entrance.

Finally presses forward, fitting inside you as he always has, another tear burns down to your face. It all comes rushing forward, never ending waves rolling over you after you’ve been knocked down into the surf. Memories, good and bad, race through you at a breakneck speed. The tingling elation of the night Wooyoung asked you to be his girlfriend, the nerves of when you asked him to move in together during medical school. Sadness when you moved away for residency with the promise to come back. The numbing despair you felt the night you thought would be a turning point in your lives. The straw that breaks the camel's back is Wooyoung's admission that you’re too good for him. Choking your own pain down, you try to hone in on a spot on the ceiling in an effort to stay grounded.

Several seconds pass before Wooyoung notices the fresh bout of sobs, mistaking choked whimpers as whines of pleasure after such a long time apart. His nose traces the tendon of your neck as he cants his hips slowly, one hand still tangled in yours, the other pressing your knee up and around his waist to stretch deeper. When the dig of your nails into his shoulder turns from a sting to a cut, he leans back and realizes his mistake.

Eyes find one another through the distorted haze your sorrows create, his rounded with concern still glazed with evidence of his own tears. Staring at one another in a silence broken by sniffling and staccato breaths, a second set of tears mix with your own as he rests his forehead against yours. Locking your arms around Wooyoung’s broad shoulders and hooking your knees around his back, you try to seal him into your skin. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. “I’m so sorry. I–” he hiccups. “I didn’t–”

What he’s apologizing for is a mystery. Forcing you into this charade? Telling you he was planning to propose? Breaking up with you in the first place? 

Perhaps it's all those things. Maybe it's none of them.

“I love you.” He whimpers into your hair, lips branding the words into your skin.

It’s not enough. But for tonight, you’ll let it be.

“I love you, too.” you whisper back, straining to brush the tip of your nose against his own.

Tomorrow, you’ll fly back to the city and hide in your apartment and pretend to be okay. Dive so far into your work that you forget the way Wooyoung has ripped the healing wound on your heart open again.

Tonight, you’ll pretend the missing piece has finally been found and can stay forever.

Tensing your thighs, your locked ankles nudge at the dip of his spine to remind Wooyoung he’s still inside you. He hesitates for a moment but your lips silence his objections, just as eager to indulge in the fantasy as you are.

The pace is bruising, stomachs firmly pressed together as he reaches for the top of the bed frame to provide more leverage. Wooyoung’s back ripples and flexes as he pounds into you, the vibration of his weak moans tickling the sensitive pads of your fingers as they etch down his ribs.

Consumed by an overwhelming need to touch him everywhere, you cradle his face between your palms. Wooyoung flashes his eyes open, as if startled you’re still there, before leaning into one of them. Thumb tracing his lips, he drops a searing kiss to the crease of your knuckle. The tenderness burns the remaining oxygen out of the room.

His next word is so quiet your ears fail to detect them over the slap of your bodies connecting or the squeak of the old bed frame. But Wooyoung’s said them against your skin enough times over the years for you to know the feel of his mouth forming around the sound.

You come with a muted whimper. So worn from tears, pleasure fizzles in your veins like the gentle ripple of the wind through the trees. Clenching around Wooyoung harshly, the tell tale hitch in his breath signals the beginning of his end. 

But he is truly done for when you lean up and whisper his words back into his ear, “forever.”

December 26th

Wooyoung

Wooyoung wakes to an empty bed, cold sheets, and the pillowcase squishing his cheek already damp from the tears he shed while sleeping.

December 29th

Wooyoung

A tedious drive to the airport grants Wooyoung ample time to stew in discontent, replaying the events of the past week over and over in his head.

Was he insane to think Y/N wanted him too? All the moments he nearly forgot they’re barely more than strangers after months of silence, how they still fit together so perfectly. Wooyoung knew he’d been a mess after the break up but the past week made him realize how lost he felt without her. Like the ocean without the moon to guide the tide; like he was missing half his heart. How many times had he opened his messages to text her something mundane from his day, just to close them and realize he’d ruined the best thing in his life in a second of weakness? And now having her next to him again, knowing he can’t fix what he did?

“When were you planning to tell us you two broke up?”

“Huh?”

“Wooyoung, I know.”

“How… she told you?”

“Poor thing was crying the entire way to the airport. I told her I wouldn’t let her fly by herself if she was that upset until she explained.”

“What’d she say?”

“That you two broke up a few months ago but you didn’t want to disappoint us.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“You know Y/N, always keeps her cards close to her chest.” His mom looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I made a mistake.”

“If you two weren’t happy then it wasn’t a mistake.”

“But we were happy! She’s the one and I messed it up because I’m not good enough for her.”

“Where is that coming from?”

“I know you and dad wanted me to be an engineer like Myungho, okay? Even Kyungmin wants to be a lawyer! I’m the family disappointment. It only makes sense I’d disappoint Y/N too.”

Wooyoung’s mom is notorious for going under the speed limit, waiting to turn even if the oncoming car is five hundred feet away, and using her blinker religiously. Which is why Wooyoung thinks she’s having a seizure when she veers off the road and onto the shoulder like an F1 driver.

“You are not a disappointment! To me or your father or anyone. You are my son, and I have always been proud of that. I’ve seen you teaching, the way those kids look up to you. You’re doing exactly what you were meant to. And if my worrying has made you feel that way then I am so sorry. I’ll we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy sweetie.”

Crossing his arms, Wooyoung flicks away the beads of moisture tracing down his chin. “You’re my mom, you have to say that.”

“Well I’m not Y/N’s mom but I talk about her the same way.”

“Yeah well she’s a doctor, saving kids lives and all that.”

“You don’t think you do the same thing? Those kids come to school excited to learn because of you. Just because you’re not finding a cure for cancer doesn’t mean your job isn’t important. And Y/N isn’t disappointed with you either. She loves you, Wooyoung. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s too late for that.” Wooyoung mumbles, eyes on the toes of his shoes.

“Maybe you should ask her if she thinks so.”

December 30th

Wooyoung

Rather than give into his impatience, Wooyoung stews on his mom’s advice. And each passing hour conveniences him more and more she’s wrong. Especially when San and Yeosang sit with him in their cramped living room, bottles of beer and empty takeout littering the coffee table.

“You’re pathetic.”

“Fuck you.” Wooyoung responds.

San, red faced and tipsy, slaps the leather armrests of the chair before rising.“Fuck you! You broke up with her over nothing and instead of trying to get her back you have a fucking pity party? Grow a pair.”

“She doesn’t want me!”

“Did you ask her?” 

“I don’t have to!”

“You’re an idiot.” Yeosang butts in.

Wooyoung knows his hesitation speaks for itself when Yoesang keeps talking.

“You can ask her to pretend you’re still dating but you can’t tell her you wanna get back together?”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Yes it is!” San argues. “You love her right? You care about her?” San doesn’t continue until Wooyoung nods. “Then she has a right to know.”

“What if she says no?”

“Then she says no. Cross that bridge when you get there. You’re already broken up, how much worse can it get?”

Surprisingly, Wooyoung agrees. He sits forward, looking at his roommates before asking.“So what do I do?”

December 31st

Wooyoung

When Wooyoung’s messages go unanswered and his calls fall into the abyss of Y/N’s full voicemail box, pulls out Plan B.

Unfortunately, Plan B has no moral or ethical oppositions to castrating him.

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Lisa, please!” Wooyoung begs into the phone.

“No! Not once but twice I’ve had Y/N crying on my couch because of your dumbass. I’m not letting it happen again!”

“I need to talk to her. Please just help me!”

“What makes this time so different?”

“I—,” Wooyoung freezes. What does make this time different?

He hears Lisa sigh on the other end of the phone, almost as if she’s disappointed. “Just leave her alone, Wooyoung.”

And the line clicks dead.

Walking back into the kitchen from the worst call of his life, Wooyoung spots San’s downcast face while Yeosang watches him from the table; both clearly overhearing his exchange with Y/N’s best friend.

The vinyl table top shakes as Wooyoung drops his forehead down with a bang, groaning in frustration. 

“She’s working at NewYork-Presbyterian.” Yeosang mentions, returning to munch on his bowl of cereal.

“What?”

“Y/N works at NewYork-Presbyterian.”

“How do you know that?”

Shrugging, Yeosang takes another bite and swallows before explaining. “She told me she got a job there when she was planning to move back.” 

Wooyoung has Yeosang’s shirt in his hands in a flash, nose to nose with his lifelong friend. Never in his life has Wooyoung been so furious with the man before him.

“You knew this whole time?” He bites, his eyes so wide with anger the whites show.

San is at Wooyoung's back, winding his arms around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him off their other roommate.

“You knew all of this and you didn’t fucking tell me? You’re my friend!” Attempting to shake him off, Wooyoung keeps pressing forward. 

Yeosang rises to his feet, hands wrapping around Wooyoung’s wrists and squeezing till the pain forces him to let go. “Yeah, and you’re acting like a real asshole right now!”

“Guys calm down!” San yells, managing to pull Wooyoung back now that he’s no longer attached to Yeosang’s shirt.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“You ended an eight year relationship out of the blue, I wasn’t about to let you get back with her just because you decided being single wasn’t your thing anymore.”

The words slap Wooyoung in the face. Even his own friend’s don’t trust him not to hurt Y/N anymore. “I’m not— I wouldn’t,”

“Come on, Woo. All you could talk about was how excited you were to ask her to marry you and then you come home and tell us you broke up with her. She’s my friend too and I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because you were desperate enough to call Lisa. If you fuck up again she’ll actually kill you.”

Wooyoung isn’t going to mess up again, not if he can help it. And if he does, he’ll walk straight into the river before Lisa can force him.

But for now, he focuses on getting Y/N to listen to his apology.

January 1st

Y/N

Chief complaint: Father reports patient’s fever and cough have become more severe since previous visit. Reports child is refusing solids but drinking well and taking soft foods such as apple sauce. Sleeping okay.

One of the residents pops her head into your office, “Dr. Y/L/N you have a delivery at the reception desk.”

“Thank you!” You call, not missing a beat as you continue your notes. 

Impression: Upper respiratory infection, right otitis media

Plan: Amoxicillin prescribed, five day follow up with p.r.n. at PCP.

Finishing your chart, you rise and head out towards the receptionist desk. A familiar bouquet of blush pink tulips greet you, a silk white ribbon knotted around the dip of the crystal vase. A small envelope is tucked into the spread, sending a terrified jolt through your system.

“I wish I had someone send me flowers as pretty as this!” Jessica sighs, eying the arrangement enviously.

“Yeah,” you laugh, unable to muster an ounce of false humor.

You snatch the bouquet before turning back the direction you came. 

Once back into the safety of your office, door shut and blinds drawn, you open the note.

If you don’t want to see me ever again, I’ll let you go. But I can't say enough how every time I ever put my arms around you I felt that I was home. I’ll be waiting at our spot on Saturday. As long as it takes.

–W

You don’t realize you’re crying until the ink of the note begins to bleed. 

January 3rd

Wooyoung

Wooyoung is the first customer to enter the cozy coffee shop overlooking the southeast entrance of Tompkins Square Park at nine a.m., claiming the tiny wobbly table off in the corner that provides the perfect view of the door. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. It feels wrong to scroll through his phone as he waits so he snags one of the artsy newspapers sitting on the counter while the surly barista prepares his order.

After an hour, adrenalin maintains the pleasant buzz through Wooyoung’s system, fueled further by espresso on an empty stomach. Each chime of the bell over the door results in awkward eye contact with a stranger that certainly isn’t his ex-girlfriend.

After three hours, his butt is numb and Wooyoung’s abandoned the newspaper he’s memorized. The NYT mini crossword archive isn’t as extensive as he thought.

After six hours, he’s had enough coffee to power a jet plane and his leg jitters aggressively. He’s started people watching through the window, making up stories for passersby entering the park and crossing the street. Half his heart hopes they’re happier than he is, the other half hopes he’s not alone in his misery.

When he’s been at the shop for eleven and a half hours, burned through every source of distraction possible and can describe in vivid detail the features outside the glass wall that separate the inside of the cafe from the sidewalk, Wooyoung accepts that she isn’t coming.

He stays till close, every minute that ticks on a drop in the bucket of regret in his heart. The barista starts stacking chairs, passive aggressively swiping the frayed broom in a ring around his table, so Wooyoung does the sensible thing and waits outside. 

The bitter wind wafting through the city finds home in his bones despite his thermals and padded parka. Wooyoung desperately clings to the tiny drop of hope still clinging to his heart. Shaking from the chill and overindulgence in caffeine Wooyoung watches as the clock hits nine. 

She isn’t coming.

She doesn’t want him back.

Wooyoung watches a couple laugh in each other's embrace across the street, clambering over one another in amused content. There was time that would have been him and Y/N, high from the intoxicating joy of one another’s presence and the city lights in the winter. Fingers interlocked as they trapeze through crowds, ignoring every other soul in favor of focusing on each other.

Eyes stinging, he turns to head for the train station but nearly shouts as spots the woman in question ten paces away.

Her hair is a mess, nose and cheeks blushing from the cold, breath obscuring her face as it fogs in the cool air. But she’s here, looking every bit unsure as he feels.

“Hi.” He says, dumbfounded.

“Hi.”

“You came.”

“I did.”

Wooyoung might faint. His heart is beating a mile a minute, breath shallow and labored. She’s here. She’s here and she’s looking at him like that. And the fear creeps into his pause.

“I’m sorry.” He warbles.

“I know.”

But she can’t so he says it again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

Because he can’t think of anything else. Nine hours of going over the grand speech about how he missed her and how breaking up with her was the greatest regret of his life flies out the window now that she’s in front of him and willing to listen.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me, Woo.”

The only thing she’s ever asked him for is the truth. Wooyoung’s been so afraid that if he tells her how he truly feels, she’ll think less of him. That being so in love it terrifies you is disgusting, pathetic. 

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since they opened.”

“Why?”

“Because if you came I didn’t want to miss you.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Why did you?”

“Because—,” she pauses, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Really?” She smiles apprehensively.

“Yeah, but now that you’re here I don’t remember any of it.”

“Then just tell me the truth, Woo.”

“I’m an idiot.”

Laughing at his outburst, she nods at him. “That’s a start.” 

And the space between them grows a little warmer.

“That night at dinner, when I went to the bathroom, I got an email.” Wooyoung starts, stepping closer. “I’d applied for a grad school program and I thought I was gonna get in but … I didn’t. And I think that and the nerves from proposing just caught up to me. I thought you’d want to stay in Boston after all and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to move back here. And it snowballed and all those feelings of not being good enough came back and— When you didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to argue with me I thought it meant it’s what you wanted too.”

Shame flushes through him, a tsunami of disgust for allowing himself to think so poorly of her. Y/N never made him feel less than. The only person in their relationship who thought he wasn’t good enough for her was him and he let that destroy everything in a second of self doubt. 

“I tried to convince myself I did you a favor. That you’d be better off without me and you’d meet someone better. Find someone good enough for you. But I was wrong. I am wrong. There hasn't been a single day since we met that I don’t think about you. Even when I try not to, you’re always in the back of my mind. And then I think about how selfish I am for wanting you back. But when it comes to you I’ve always been a little selfish because I love you. And—” he breaths for the first time. “And I don’t know how to be me without you.”

The humor is gone from Y/N’s face. Her beautiful eyes brim with tears, rimmed red not unlike his own; chin shaking. The wind is louder than ever now, cars wheel sloshing across the wet pavement crashing between them.

“Please say something.”

“How do I trust you again?” Her voice cracks, and it knocks the air from Wooyoung’s lungs.

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung looks at the ground, guilt-ridden.

Everything, all of the pain and heartbreak, was his fault. He dug them into this mess and now he doesn’t know how to get them out.

Y/N

Seeing Wooyoung, the man with an answer for everything, admit for once he doesn’t have an elaborate plan in motion to win you back is refreshing. You didn’t want Wooyoung who’d fix everything, Wooyoung who’d carry the burden of your relationship by himself even if it killed him. All you wanted was for him to tell you the truth.

And now that he has, you’re done being apart.

Nearly topping to the ground as you tackle Wooyoung in a fierce hug, you focus on inhaling his cologne and basking in the feel of his body pressed firmly against you. He barely manages to steady your combined weight, feet scrambling to regain his balance on the icy sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever do that shit to me again!” You yell, arms squeezing around his waist.

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, clearly shocked at the turn of events. Rising out of his chest, you look at his gaping mouth and furrowed brows before his arms knot around your shoulders. 

“I missed you.” You whisper into the delicate kiss you land on his lips.

“I love you.” Wooyoung whispers back, forehead resting against your own.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Four months later

Central Park in May is a bustle of people enjoying warm days following months of slushy snow and gray skies. Shrill screams bounce off the trees as children dart across the walkways, giggling groups of friends crowd around blankets on the greening grass, and a menagerie of dogs zigzag around their owners in the fresh air.

Today is a rare day where they both can spend interrupted hours lounging in one another’s presence, eager to make up for years of long distances and the months neither likes to talk about. Wooyoung woke Y/N with innumerable kisses across any sliver of skin his lips could find, basking in the knowledge today he’d finally ask the question hanging from the tip of his tongue since this time last year.

Sprawled across an old throw blanket, skin warming in the afternoon sunshine, a thick book obscures her face from view as Y/N rests her head in his lap. Wooyoung tries not to check his pocket for the millionth time this afternoon, ensuring the little velvet box is still there. He isn’t worried she’ll say no. But the phantom fear from the last time he planned to ask creeps up no matter how many affirmations he silently repeats in his head. But when she looks up at him, crinkled eyes visible just above the edge of the book pages hiding her smile, Wooyoung forgets all his worries.

Plucking the book from her grasp, he carefully marks her place before setting it down beside her hip. Wooyoung folds in half to silence her protesting “hey!” with a kiss, humming when she gives in all too easily. 

“I was reading that.” She mumbles as they separate.

“Wow, you’d rather read some smutty book than kiss your real life boyfriend?”

Laughing, she presses another peck to his mouth before answering.“Glad you understand.”

“What about your fiance?”

Y/N smile melts into shock, mouth gaping and staring at him like a deer in headlights.

Wooyoung smoothly maneuvers her up and out of his lap, pulling the jewelry box from his pocket as he kneels on a lone knee.

“Y/N. You’re my favorite person in the world. The only person I can ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. I love when you sing in the shower, and how you put way too much sugar in your coffee. I love how smart you are, and how you’re nice to everyone even if they don’t deserve it,  me included. And how everytime I look at you my palms get sweaty and that just thinking about you makes my day better. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?”

Wooyoung is shaking so violently he fumbles the velvet box twice during his speech. He drops it a third time when Y/N tackles him in a fierce hug, tear filled laughter spilling from their lips and into the field where they lay. 

“Yes!” She squeals into his neck, “Yes, I’d love to marry you.”

At dinner with all their friends, he subconsciously holds Y/N’s hand so the diamond glints at anyone looking. When Wooyoung walks home, giggly from champagne and love, he kisses her knuckles a ridiculous amount of times just to feel the cool band under his lips. Once inside the doorway of her apartment, Wooyoung crowds Y/N against the door; his thumb focusing on the bevel of the diamond sitting on her ring finger as his other hand pushes the strap of her sundress off her shoulder so his tongue etch her collarbone from dip of her throat where the locket he gave her for their first Christmas together rests to under her ear. 

“So, future Mrs. Jung, now that we’re alone, how would you like to celebrate?” He asks, nipping against the sensitive skin she sighs, chest arching into his own.

“What if I wanna keep my last name?”

“Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” Wooyoung asks, a strong thigh moving between her parted legs.

“Yeah, future Mr.Y/L/N. I don’t think there’s anything else to discuss right n—fuck, Youngie.”

Wooyoun can’t help but giggle at her reaction, rocking again just to hear her moan his name once more. 

“What were you saying?”

“Don’t,” she huffs, whimpering at another torturous drag. Wooyoung can feel the heat of her cunt through her panties and his jeans. “Don’t be mean to your future wife.”

“Love when you talk dirty.” He bites, teeth raking against the strained muscle raising from the side of her neck.

“That turns you on? Calling me your wife?”

“Feel for yourself.”

“And if I call you my husband?”

Wooyoung doesn’t dignify her question with an answer other than sprinting to the bedroom to demonstrate just how much he likes the new name.

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[peterparkouryo]

fell from the sky into my lap | ⍣ ೋ

⍣ ೋ

prompt; You encounter a very charming boy on the train.

warning: fluff, fluff, and did i mention fluff?

word count: 1.5k

a/n: meet cute!! i missed writing <3 (also ignore the fact that i used this gif once b4, feel free to send me tom gifs for future fics 😭)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

You step out of Midtown High, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. You had decided to stay after school, opting to have a small study session with a few of your friends for an upcoming test for the gruesome mathematics class, also known as calculus. The weight of your backpack pulls slightly at your shoulders as you make your way down the stairs of the school building, balmy wind blusters against your skin. Descending down the stairs finally, you keep your head down and walk across the football field, creating a safe distance between you and the ongoing practice taking place. 

What seemed forever, but in reality was maybe a good two to three minute walk off the school grounds, you head toward the train station. The familiar hum of chatter and the rhythmic clack of shoes on the sidewalk fill the air, blending into a comforting soundtrack of the end of the school day.

As you approach the station, the distant sound of a train horn echoes, signalling its arrival. Just in time, you thought to yourself. You quicken your pace, the excitement of heading home, mixed with the anticipation of the journey itself, propelling you forward. The station is a bustling hub of activity, with students, commuters, and travelers weaving in and out of the crowd.

You swipe your transit card at the turnstile, the beep granting you passage onto the platform. The cool, metallic scent of the train station mingles with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nearby café. You glance up at the electronic display board, noting the arrival time of your train. It's right on schedule.

The train glides into the station with a soft hiss of brakes and a rush of wind. The doors slide open, inviting you inside. You step onto the train, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the warmth outside. You find a seat by the window and settle in, reaching into your backpack and digging through to find your wired headphones, despite begging your parents for regular ones.

You open your phone, clicking the green app for music, scrolling through many playlists you've obsessively created for various different scenarios. Picking a playlist you don't remember creating, you let out a tired yawn and sit back, wandering your eyes to the left, and daydreaming  about your bed. 

The train ride was relatively quiet, aside from a crying baby (not that you could hear it, but breaking your daydream to observe your surroundings, you could see a crying baby), and the loud music blasting in your ears. 

For the next six minutes, the music from your headphones consumed your ears, guaranteed to worsen your hearing in the next twenty years or so. You were at an unusual ease you normally don't feel when you're alone on a train by yourself. It could do with the fact that there was maybe five or six people onboard, you weren't too sure.

You lay your head back against the seat and stare out the window, the passing buildings rapidly leaving your vision. A bored sigh leaves your lips, the spotify ad only adding onto the exhaustion you felt. 

The train stops, indicating people were either leaving or stepping on the train, and you tear your gaze away from the window out of curiosity, watching a couple people swipe their transit cards. You notice the last person, a boy with hair as brown as a bear, swipe his card more than once, and you can only assume something was wrong.

The more you watch the boy struggle, the more you feel bad because not only was the operator getting impatient, the passengers moan and groan as well. Slowly you dig into your pocket for your card, standing up and swiftly walking to the front of the train. Showing the boy a friendly smile, you glance at the operator, who's eyebrows were furrowed and a permanent frown carved onto his face.

"Um, he can use my card." You say unsurely, not entirely positive thats even how transit cards work.

The man narrows his eyes and stares between you and the boy for a good while before he exhales a huff.

"Go ahead, you're holding up my line." He mumbles and you furrow your eyebrows and glance behind you, seeing that it was only the boy and no one else, but you decide not to say anything about it.

You swipe the transit card, watching the red dot change to green, and the boy sighs in relief.

"Thank you." He says, watching your every move as you put your card back into your pocket.

You nod and your eyes drift to his face, studying him carefully, because boy, he was gorgeous. The boy had eyes just as brown as his hair, maybe even a little lighter with the golden specks straggling within them. If anyone was lucky (such as yourself) to stand so close to him, one might be able to see the small barely visible, but undeniably delightful freckles scattered across his nose.

Your eyes trail down to his lips, but not in a weird way, the small smile etched on his face captivated you and deep in your stomach, you swore you felt butterflies erupt. The smile was warm and inviting, and one of his most endearing features, capable of lighting up his entire face. It gave him a friendly, yet approachable demeanour. 

He was the kind of person who had the-boy-next-door kind of vibe, and you can't help but gaze longer than intended, making him uncomfortable in a way you had no intentions of doing.

So, you clear your throat, and quickly look at your shoes. 

"Its no problem." You mutter.

There's a standstill silence between the two of you, the murmur of passengers, the rustling of bags and the occasional ring of a phone not helping the awkwardness you felt whatsoever.

Eventually, the boy shows you yet another charming smile, walking past you to sit in a nearby seat. You return to yours and try your hardest not to stare at the boy diagonally across from you.

There's a standstill silence between the two of you, the murmur of passengers, the rustling of bags and the occasional ring of a phone not helping the awkwardness you felt whatsoever.

Eventually, the boy shows you yet another charming smile, walking past you to sit in a nearby seat. You return to yours and try your hardest not to stare at the boy diagonally across from you.

That challenge, however quickly crashes when you glance at him only to see him gazing back, in a way that wasn't entirely creepy, but cumbersome for the both of you. You do your best to show him a smile, cringing slightly when you realize its more of a nervous grimace than what you intended.

Though, he shows no signs of being weirded out by your so called "smile", he waves as you wave back. A rush of warmth and pleasantry overtakes you when he looks away. You'd think this is the first time any boy has ever showed you this much attention, no matter how little it might have been.

Minutes pass in a blur as the train carries you forward, each moment seamlessly blending into the next. Ultimately, you reach your stop and you gather your things, albeit a bit reluctantly. As you leave, you bite your lower lip and share a scrutiny when you walk past him, making your exit off the train.

While you step off the train, and make it your mission to ascend up the stairs, a hand purchases on your shoulder causing you to flinch fearfully, many thoughts running through your head as you make the stupid decision to turn around to face the culprit.

 All fears subside once you meet the familiar chestnut brown eyes of the boy from the train.

He realizes your initial fear and holds up your tangled headphones. "You left these on the train." He blinks.

"Thank you." You obligate, retrieving the headphones from his hand.

The boy nods and buries his hands in his pocket, unwieldy looking around.

You tilt your head as a thought comes about.

"Is this your stop?" You wonder.

He breaks his train of thought and stares right at you before laughing awkwardly. "Um, no my stop was actually three more blocks away." He informs and guilt fills you at that information.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You apologize, frowning.

He shakes his head quickly. 

"No, its fine I was just going to stop at Delmar's anyway." He reassures and smiles, holding out his hand.

"Also, I'm Peter by the way, Peter Parker." 

You return the smile and shake Peter's hand at his dorky introduction, speaking your name in greeting.

"I know, we share a gym class." Peter says.

You blink at the revelation, having no idea he even went to Midtown. Small world, you think.

"Anyway, is it okay if I walk you up the stairs, in a non weird way that seems creepy." Peter offers shyly, interrupting the barely there silence. There was something about his adorably dunce proposal that made you appreciate him despite only knowing the boy for ten minutes at most.

"Sure." You agree all too eagerly.

With new found courage, you and Peter make your way up the stairs of the train station and you're greeted with the bustling New York city, of what you can only describe as chaotic, honking cars and fellow civilians either on their arguing or arguing on their phones.

You felt excited to be walking next to Peter, no matter how small your interactions have been or how little you two new each other, you were grateful for his presence.

Grateful that you decided to take the train. Had you would've walked, only god knows what could've happened, the foreign feeling of butterflies in your stomach would not had been, that's for certain.

taglist: @victoriousskylar @imawhoreforu @myfangirlinessononeblog

shoutout to the divider account: @saradika-graphics

[brokebonewritings]

The Courage to Try

Peter Parker x reader

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, High School Crush, Friends to Lovers

Summary: After years of swooning over Peter, you finally have the courage to ask him on a date. You would have never thought that going on a date with your best friend would turn out so well.

Word Count: 3k

masterlist || navigation

Lunch period at Midtown High was always chaotic. The hallways are filled with smelly, hangry teenagers who don’t know how to say “excuse me”. It never bothered you though, not really anyways. You had your friends to keep you company, even in class. MJ always made Honors Calculus more enjoyable, and Ned kept you occupied in Spanish. Peter on the other hand, it was hard to focus whenever you were in class with him.

It started out with small things. Little touches while handing you vials in Chemistry, or the smiles he would give you in Honors Calc. Lunch period was where you started to zone out the most. Even though there were no teachers to notice, your friends definitely could tell.

Peter always seemed to find a way to sit beside you during lunch, casually striking up conversations about anything and everything. Not that you complained about it. MJ would exchange knowing glances with Ned, who would tease you endlessly about your obvious crush on Peter.

“Hey!” You turn as you hear your name being called. It was MJ, trying to catch up with you from her last class. “How was Film Lit?”

“Hey, Ah, y’know, Mr. Micucci never really shows anything interesting so…” You trail off after seeing Peter and Ned up ahead. 

“You’re such a film snob,” MJ teased, nudging you playfully but you weren’t listening. “Uhm hello? Anyone in there?”

You’re brought back to reality as your friend waves her hand in front of your face. “Huh, sorry?”

“Dude, you totally were staring at Peter.” She said as you both stopped in the middle of the hallway.

You can feel the blush rising to your cheeks at her words, but you play it off with a laugh. "What? No way, I was just...” MJ raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not buying it. “Besides, Peter is just a friend.”

"Sure, just a friend who you can't take your eyes off of," she teases, bumping your shoulder as you start walking again. You roll your eyes, but there's a small part of you that can't deny the truth in her words.

As you approach Peter and Ned, you see them deep in conversation. Ned is animatedly telling a story while Peter listens, a small smile playing on his lips. You can't help but smile at the sight, feeling lucky to have such good friends by your side.

“Hey nerds,” MJ greets, “What is it this time? Star Wars or?”

Peter looks up with a grin as you and MJ approach, his eyes lighting up as he sees you. "Hey guys! Actually, we were just talking about the new Captain America musical on broadway!”

"Really? That sounds... interesting," you reply, trying to hide your amusement at the thought of a musical about Captain America. Ned launches into an excited explanation about the show.

As you all make your way to the cafeteria, Peter falls into step beside you, his shoulder lightly brushing yours. You feel a jolt of electricity at the contact, making it difficult to focus on the conversation.

Once you reach an empty table, you all sit down and start unpacking your lunches. MJ pulls out a sandwich while Ned eagerly unwraps a burrito. Peter, as usual, has brought a homemade lunch complete with a note from Aunt May.

"So, are you guys coming over tonight to work on the history project?" Ned asks between bites of his burrito.

"I wish I could, but I have to cover a shift at the bookstore," MJ replies apologetically.

You glance over at Peter, waiting for his reply. "Yeah, I'll be there. Maybe we can order some pizza while we work?" Peter suggests with a smile.

“I’ll be there!” You smile at both Ned and Peter. “Only if we can listen to my playlist.” 

Peter's eyes light up "Deal! As long as we get to listen to my playlist after," he teases, nudging you playfully. You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that tugs at your lips.

Ned groans, “Oh no, not your playlist again. We don’t need a repeat of the incident from last time.”

The rest of lunch is spent in easy conversation and laughter, the usual banter flowing effortlessly between the four of you. Despite the chaotic surroundings, there's a sense of calm whenever you're with your friends, especially when Peter is beside you.

As the bell signaling the end of lunch period rings, you all gather up your belongings and start making your way to your next classes. Peter falls into step beside you once again, and this time, he reaches out to lightly bump his shoulder against yours.

"See you after school for the project?" Peter asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes. You nod, feeling a flush of excitement at the thought of spending more time with him outside of school.

“I’ll meet you on the steps.” You grin as he walks away.

Your last class seemed to drone on for hours. None of your friends were in it so you seemed exhausted by the end of it. You can't help but replay the small moments with Peter over and over in your head, his laughter, his smile, the way he always seemed to find a reason to be near you.

Not realizing the bell had rung, you looked around to see your classmates were all packed up and leaving. You hurriedly packed your bag, eager to meet Peter outside to walk to Ned’s house together.

Once you get outside, you notice him standing at the bottom of the steps looking for you. You notice him turn to see you as you walk by down the stairs. Peter flashed you a bright smile as you approached, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Peter asked as you joined him at the bottom of the steps. You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement. The two of you started walking towards Ned's house, the familiar route feeling different somehow with Peter by your side.

As you chatted about random things like the latest Spider-Man sightings in the city and your upcoming history project, you couldn't shake off the nervous energy bubbling inside you. There was something about Peter's presence that made you feel at ease.

“Pete?” You start, “You know you’re one of my best friends right?”

He smiles, “Of course!”

“Good," you continued, feeling a rush of courage. "Because lately, I've been thinking...” 

You both stop walking as your sentence trails off. Staring at the ground you can’t bring yourself to say the next set of words.

“Hey.” You hear Peter say softly. Looking up you see his round eyes staring back at you with a soft smile spreading across his lips. “I know you can say whatever it is you’re trying to tell me.”

Taking a deep breath you finally continue, “Peter Parker, I would really like to take you on a date.”

Peter's smile widens at your words, his eyes lighting up with surprise and joy. "I would love that," he says, his voice filled with warmth. The nervous energy inside you dissipates, replaced by a sense of relief and happiness at his response.

The two of you continue walking towards Ned's house, the weight of unspoken words now lifted from your shoulders. You can't help but steal glances at Peter, a smile tugging at your lips as you think about the possibility of going on a date with him.

When you reach Ned's house, he greets you both enthusiastically at the door and leads you to his room where you'll be working on the history project. As you settle in with your laptops and textbooks, Peter shifts closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours in a silent gesture of comfort and support.

You feel a rush of warmth at the simple touch, grateful for Peter's presence beside you. The three of you dive into the project, discussing ideas and sharing laughs as the afternoon turns into evening. Peter's eyes meet yours from across the table, a silent understanding passing between you.

Ned excused himself to use the restroom halfway through the study session, leaving you and Peter alone in his room. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comforting either.

Peter cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "So... about that date," he started, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You turned to face him, a smile playing on your lips. "Yes, about that date," you echoed.

He smiled back, “I was thinking about taking you to a museum or maybe Central Park?”

“Central Park is perfect!” 

“I also wanted to take you to this cafe near the park too.”

“I would really love that, Peter.” 

As Ned returns to the room, you both continue on with your work. When it was finally time for you both to go home, you hugged and said your goodbye to Ned, and thanked his Lola for the food. Peter said his goodbyes, and you both started walking towards the train.

The train ride was filled with a comfortable silence, the occasional glances and smiles shared between you and Peter speaking volumes. As the train pulled into your stop, you both stepped out onto the bustling platform and started walking towards your respective homes.

"Tonight was great," Peter said, breaking the silence. "I can't wait for our date at Central Park."

You smiled back at him,"Me too. Thanks for saying yes."

"Of course I said yes. I've been wanting to ask you out for a while now."

“What?” you say surprised.

“Yeah,” he says rubbing the back of his neck “I just was really nervous you would say no.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, realizing that your feelings were reciprocated all this time. The walk to your apartment felt shorter than usual, because in no time you reached your building.

“Well, it looks like this is me.” You say, stalling. “So, tomorrow? For our Date? Since it is Saturday and all.”

"Absolutely," Peter replies with a warm smile. "I'll meet you at Central Park tomorrow afternoon."

You nod, and run up the stairs to your apartment. Your older brother takes note first on how giddy you are as you run inside. Then your mom notices.

“There’s no way you’re this excited about a project.” he says unamused. “Wait. Did he?”

You drop your bag and smile at your brother. “Mhm!” 

“Did who what?” Your mom asks from the kitchen table.

“Peter totally asked her out finally!”

Your mom stands up, taking her glasses off excitedly. “He did!”

You giggle at the excitement your family was portraying. “Well actually, I asked him. But, he did most of the planning!”

The three of you chat for a while before you decide to go to bed.

The night felt like forever as you tossed and turned in bed, your thoughts consumed by your date with Peter. Every nerve in your body seemed to be tingling with excitement and a touch of nervousness, but deep down, you felt a sense of contentment knowing that you would be spending the day with him.

Waking up the next day, you went through your usual routine with a little more excitement. Your brother helped you with your outfit, since he was going to the most prestigious fashion college in New York City.

As you got ready for your date, your mind raced with possibilities. Would he let you hold his hand? What would you talk about? Would Peter still make your heart skip a beat like he always did?

With one last look in the mirror, and approval from both your mom and brother you grab your small backpack and head out the door to meet Peter.

The sun was shining brightly as you walked towards Central Park. You spot Peter waiting for you near the entrance, a bright smile on his face. As you approach him, he greets you and hugs you tightly.

"Hey," Peter says, his eyes filled with warmth. "You look amazing."

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment. "Thanks. You don't look too bad yourself."

Peter chuckles, a grin playing on his lips. "Shall we?" he asks, gesturing towards the park.

You nod, and the two of you enter Central Park, the bustling city noises fading into the background as you walk along the winding pathways. The air is filled with laughter and chatter of families enjoying the weekend, adding to the vibrant atmosphere.

As you walked further into the park, a sense of serenity washed over you. The sun peeked through the trees, casting a warm glow over everything around you. Peter led you to a quiet spot by a tranquil pond, where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above you. You sat down on a bench together, the sound of chirping birds providing a soothing soundtrack to your date.

Peter turned to you, his gaze soft yet full of excitement. "I'm really glad we're here together," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me too," you replied, reaching out to take his hand in yours.

His fingers intertwined with yours, fitting perfectly as if they were always meant to be together.

“How long have you liked me, y’know, more than friends?” he asks curiously.

“A while,” you giggle, “probably when you were mixing random chemicals together in Chem class.”

He groans at this admission. “You don’t mean when I made that drawer explode right?”

“Yep exactly then, I think.” You look down at your hands interlaced together. “What about you?”

He smiles and looks up at the sky for a moment. “Probably when you went on that rant about how Capybaras would make better pets than Dogs.”

You both burst into laughter. Your laughter echoed through the park, blending with the rustling leaves and chirping birds around you. As your laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled between you, filled with unspoken words and shared emotions.

Peter turned to you, his eyes meeting yours. “I really am glad you got the courage to ask me out.”

“I’m just really glad you didn’t turn me down.” You sigh.

Peter's warm smile never wavered as he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I could never turn you down," he said softly, his gaze unwavering. "I've always known there was something special between us, even before we realized it ourselves."

"I've never felt this way about anyone before," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Me neither," he admitted, “Is it okay if I kiss you now?”

Without another word, you leaned in towards Peter, closing the gap between you. His lips met yours in a gentle, tender kiss, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire being.

As you pull away, you can hear Peter sigh softly before opening his eyes. You both smile brightly at each other, while exchanging awkward giggles.

"Wow," he whispered, his breath mingling with yours.

"Wow indeed," you replied softly.

The rest of the afternoon was spent walking hand in hand through Central Park, sharing stories, dreams, and stolen kisses.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the park. Peter decides that heading to the cafe before It closes was the best thing to do. The two of you found a cozy table by the window, the soft golden light illuminating your faces as you talked and laughed over cups of coffee.

“How did you even find this place?” You ask.

After taking a long sip of his coffee, he sets down his mug, “I was in the neighborhood and saw it one day. I just wanted to try it.” 

“How do you think Ned and MJ will react?”

“I think they’ll be relieved they won’t have to deal with us hiding our crushes.” He laughs, followed by your own.

“They’re really good at keeping secrets,” you begin.”Which is kind of scary.”

As the evening wore on, Peter walked you back to your apartment, hand in hand under the starlit sky. The familiar streets seemed transformed by the magic of the night, each moment etching itself into your memory as if trying to make it last forever.

“I had an amazing time today.” Peter says as you guys reach your building.

“Me too, Peter.” You smile. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Peter took a step closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. “I wish the night went on longer.”

“This doesn’t have to be our only date if you don’t want it to be.”

His eyes sparkled with hope and affection. "I definitely want more than just one date with you," he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you leaned closer to him, closing the gap between you once again in a sweet and lingering kiss.

Pulling away, you look up to see your mom and brother watching from the fire escape. “I should probably get inside.” you announce.

“Wait!” he starts, “Uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to make it official?”

“Official?” you echo

“Yeah, like will you officially go out with me?”

You smile wide and nod to his question. “Yes, Peter, Of course!”

He returns the smile and wraps you in a warm hug. “I’m so glad.”

Pulling away from him once again, “Goodnight, Peter!” you say before climbing the steps to your building.

“Good night!”

As Peter begins to walk home, you can’t help but look back at him and watch as he looks back at you. He waves once more before disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing on the steps with a contented smile on your face.

You really were glad you got the courage to finally ask him on a real date. Maybe you would have the courage to ask him if he was actually Spider-Man in the future, or decide if MJ made that up.

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[permanentswaps]

Nonno’s Globetrotting Adventure

Part One

I sat in my modest apartment, the weight of my years heavy upon my frail shoulders. My once-strong body now betrayed me, confined to a wheelchair as age and illness took their toll. But despite my body, I still felt young at heart. And, more importantly, I had a  burning desire to experience the world beyond the confines of my small Italian town before my time was up.

One day, my grandson Nico came to visit. Although it feels weird to say about my grandson, Nico is a very attractive young man.

He’s currently working as a waiter while pursing his dream of getting signed by a modeling agency in Milan. While Nico certainly has the looks to get signed, he seems to lack the discipline and patience needed to succeed. Every time he comes close, he finds a way to sabotage his chances – oversleeping for a final callback, not bothering to dress nice enough, always something.

Seeing that Nico was struggling, I had an idea for how to help us both get what we wanted.

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Nico said. “You want to use my body to travel the world, while I stay here in yours?”

“Exactly,” I replied. “I know it sounds strange, but think about it. You’re young and full of energy, it’s really the only way I could see some sights before I pass.”

“But how would it even work?” he said.

“I have these enchanted necklaces. If we both wear them at the same time, we’ll swap bodies. And then, when the summer is over, we can switch back by both removing the necklaces,” I explained.

“Wow, that’s… That’s a lot to take in, Nonno,” he said.

“I know it’s unconventional, but I would be willing to pay you double what you would make from waiting tables over the summer. That way, you would have a cushion to focus full time on landing a modeling gig when you get back. And I’d be sure to take a bunch of pictures for you while I’m away to help build up your portfolio.”

“I don’t know, that’s a great offer, but I’m still not sure.”

“Well, let’s try now and see how you feel,” I said, quickly clasping the necklace around his neck before he could say anything.

Then I threw on my own. I felt my soul rush out of me and slam into my grandson. Standing up tall and taking a deep breath, I felt my strong muscles. Then I looked down at my hands and saw thick veins. Damn, I hadn’t felt this good in years.

Sensing some reticence from Nico, I quickly said “Oh! Thank you so much Nico, it really means the world to me.” Hoping to guilt trip him before he could say anything.

Clearly still worried, he tried to play it off and said, “Alright Nonno, you’re welcome.”

Taking in this body, I snapped this photo on the way to my new home:

Part Two

The first stop on my world tour was New York City. Since I was a little boy, I had always dreamed of visiting America, but I had never gotten the chance.

As I stepped out of the metro and up to ground level, I couldn’t help but stare at the skyscrapers touring over me. Walking down the street, I could tell that guys and girls were checking me out, which was a new feeling. Sure, I was attractive when I was younger, thats part of where Nico gets it from. But even then, I’d never really gotten these types of looks back in the day, especially not from such hot guys … I think I like it.

At the youth hostel, I met a bunch of really cool guys – we hung out in a crew and went to do all the iconic landmarks like Times Square, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty.

Walking through Midtown one of the guys, Adi, shouted to me, “Hey Sal, check this out!” as we turned a corner, revealing a perfect view of the Empire State Building. I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight, feeling a sense of awe wash over me.

Adi slapped me on the back, grinning widely. "Pretty awesome, huh?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's incredible. I never thought I'd get to see it in person."

We bar-hopped around the city together, sharing stories and laughter late into the night. At one point, we stumbled upon a street performer playing the guitar, his soulful melodies filling the air with a sense of nostalgia. Adi nudged me with his elbow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Sal, you ever played an instrument?"

I shook my head. "No, never had the chance."

Adi grinned. "Well, there's no time like the present. Grab that guitar and let's see what you've got!"

With a mixture of nervousness and excitement, I hesitantly approached the street performer, who handed me his guitar with a friendly smile. As I strummed the strings and attempted to mimic the chords he had been playing, I felt a sense of exhilaration wash over me. Despite my lack of experience, the music flowed through me, filling me with a sense of joy and freedom I had never known before.

The guys cheered me on, clapping and cheering as I played. In that moment, I felt alive in a way I hadn't in years. It was a feeling I never wanted to end.

I made sure to snap some more selfies of myself, and get my new bros to take some shots for my modeling portfolio too:

After bidding farewell to the bustling streets of New York, I traveled westward. From the majestic mountains of the Rockies to the tranquil plains of the Midwest, each destination had its own unique charm.

But it was in California, with its sun-kissed beaches and sprawling landscapes, that I truly felt at home. As I walked for what seemed like endless miles along the rugged coastline, the salty breeze tousling my hair and the warmth of the sun on my skin, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that surrounded me.

With each step, I felt the strength and vitality of Nico's body coursing through me. I would’ve never been able to do this trip in my own body. Gone were the aches and pains of old age, replaced by a sense of boundless energy. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was somehow meant to be, me in Nico's youthful body.

Part Three

After about a month of traveling, I found myself in India. While I hadn’t really though about traveling there before, so many people had recommended it to me as my next stop. So I decided, why not check it out.

Arriving in Mumbai, I checked into my hostel and made a conscious decision to introduce myself as Nico, not Salvatore, this time. While my fellow travelers were none the wiser, I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement every time someone addressed me by my new name. It made feel even more at home in this body than I had in California.

Among the eclectic group at the hostel, one stood out to me – Emilio. Another Italian adventurer like myself, Emilio had a warm smile and an easy charm that immediately put me at ease. With his curly hair and striking green eyes, Emilio was undeniably handsome, and I found myself drawn to him in a way I hadn't expected. We spent our days exploring the bustling streets of Mumbai, immersing ourselves in the sights, sounds, and flavors of the city, and going to some nearby hotsprings.

One fateful night, after returning from a night out on the town, Emilio found himself locked out of his bunk. Immediately, I offered him a spot in my private room, and to my delight, he accepted without hesitation.

Since it was so hot in Mumbai, we decided to strip down to just our underwear. As we lay sharing my small bed, I feel his hand trace up my inner thigh. My breathing getting heavier, Emilio decides to increase the pressure of his strokes. In reponse, I reach over to his thigh and work my way up to his cock, which I can feel is massive. That was all the sign he needed.

Emilio gets up and splits my legs, now rubbing both of them and playing with my waistband. As he does that, he also leans over and begins sucking my nipples. While this wouldn’t have done anything for my old body, Nico’s nipples are sensitive as hell.

“Fuckkkk” I said in a low grunting whisper.

As he switched over from one nipple to the other, Emilio then reached into my trunks and began jerking my uncut dick. Eventually, he flips me over and pulls down my underwear before taking off his own. I can feel his cock now teasing between my ass cheeks. The anticipation is agonizing as I wait for him to put it in.

He reaches underneath me and pulls up my chest so that I am on my hands and knees. Nibbling on my ear he whispers “you’re the fucking sexiest guy i’ve ever seen,” as he shoves his 25cm cock inside me.

Thrusting in and out of me, he uses the hand that he has across my waist to play with my nipples again, which drives me crazy. Before long, I feel pressure growing, and without him even touching my cock, I feel myself shoot my load across the bed.

Smirking at me as I turn my head around, Emilio takes his fingers, runs it through my seed, before then showing those same fingers into his mouth. He then lifts up his arm, flexes his biceps for me, which makes me tigthen my hole. The tighthness is too much for him and he shoots his entire load inside me. We collapse onto the bed, his cock still inside, where it stays for the rest of the night.

From that night on, Emilio and I became inseparable. We decided to travel together for the rest of our journey, visiting  South Africa, Kenya, and Egypt before finally finding ourselves in Greece at the end of the summer.

The beaches of Greece were a paradise. We spent our days basking in the warm Mediterranean sun, swimming in the azure sea, and indulging in leisurely walks along the shore. In the evenings, we treated ourselves to sumptuous dinners at quaint seaside tavernas, savoring the flavors of Greek cuisine and the company of each other.

One night towards the end of our time in Greece, over a sunset dinner, Emilio turned to me with a serious expression.

“These past few weeks have been beyond anything I could have imagined,” Emilio began, his voice soft but filled with emotion. “I've had the time of my life, Nico, and I don't want it to end when we return to Italy.”

His words echoed the sentiments that had been swirling in my own mind, and I felt a rush of anticipation at what he might say next. Meeting his gaze, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for this man who had become so dear to me.

"Me neither," I replied, my heart pounding in my chest as I gazed longingly into his eyes.

With a determined look, Emilio took a deep breath before continuing, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

The question hung in the air between us, charged with the weight of all that we had shared and all that was yet to come. And in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty what my answer would be.

“Yes, of course,” I replied, a smile spreading across my face as I reached out to take his hand in mine. “I've been waiting for you to ask since the night we met in India.”

He looked at me, his eyes glistening, before pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss.

Part Four

Eventually, Emilio and I made our way back to Italy. We'd been back about a week, and I was eager to share my adventures and introduce Emilio to the rest of my family, which I planned to do at dinner tonight. However, there was a significant problem: none of them knew about the body swap. I hadn’t spoken to the real Nico since I'd left three months ago, but I'd see him tonight. I knew what I was going to do, but I didn’t know how it would go over.

Walking hand in hand, we approached the familiar doorstep of my family's house. I could feel Emilio’s nerves radiating, but I squeezed his hand reassuringly, confident that my family would adore him as much as I did. Stepping into the warm embrace of my family, I proudly introduced Emilio to each and every one of them.

My mother’s (formerly my daughter) eyes lit up with delight as she embraced Emilio warmly. "Oh, it's so wonderful to finally meet you, Emilio! Nico has spoken so highly of you."

Emilio returned her embrace, a smile playing on his lips. "Grazie, signora. It's truly an honor to meet you all."

My father clapped Emilio on the back, a jovial twinkle in his eye. "Welcome to the family, Emilio! Nico here has been a bit of a handful lately, but it seems like you've got him under control."

We all shared a laugh at my father's jest, and Emilio's cheeks flushed with warmth. "I'm doing my best, signore," he replied, earning a nod of approval from my father.

As we sat around the dinner table, sharing stories of our travels and adventures, Emilio chimed in with anecdotes of his own, effortlessly weaving himself into the fabric of our family dynamic. With each passing moment, I could see my family growing fonder of him.

As we sat around the dinner table, I asked, "Hey, where’s Nonno?"

My mother's expression softened with concern as she replied, "He's in bed, nico. He's been resting a lot lately."

A pang of guilt tugged at my heart as I excused myself from the table, my footsteps heavy with apprehension as I made my way upstairs. "Nonno," I said softly, approaching his bedside with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "I need to talk to you."

"I am so relieved you’re back," he replied weakly, his voice raspy with exhaustion, "but, why did you call me that?"

Taking a deep breath, I summoned the courage to tell him. "I... I met a guy," I began, my words faltering slightly as I struggled to find the right way to express myself. "I've never felt such a deep connection before, and I need to see where it leads."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "But... what about our agreement?" he asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.

"I know, Nonno, and I'm sorry," I replied, my heart heavy with guilt. "But I can't ignore how I feel. I hope you understand."

Anger flared in his eyes. "You can’t do this to me," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not fair."

With a sudden surge of frustration, Nico ripped off his necklace, the enchanted chain clattering to the floor with a finality that echoed through the room. "I want to swap back right now," he demanded, his gaze locking onto the necklace that now hung around my neck.

I leaned in towards my old body, my guilt giving way to slight confidence as I made my declaration. "I understand it's hard to accept, Nonno, but this is my life now," I asserted, my tone laced with a sense of superiority.

With a swift motion, he reached for the necklace around my neck, his fingers trembling with desperation. But as he tore it away, his expression twisted with shock as he realized that nothing happened.

I looked at him with a face of pity. “It’s not going to work,” I said.

"I melted down the necklace and had it made it into a bunch of different pieces of jewelry while I was in India," I confessed.

His eyes widened in disbelief, his feeble grasp on the situation slipping away with each passing moment. "You... you did what?" he stammered, his voice tinged with incredulity.

"I wanted an insurance policy so that I could ensure nothing would stop me from pursuing Emilio," I continued, my resolve unwavering.

"I knew you probably wouldn’t think to take off the necklace until I cam back. So I took the opportunity to melt mine down into jewelry that I can wear all the time and nobody can just accidentally take off or force me to take off – earrings, bracelets … cock piercing. Emilio thought they were so hot."

"You couldn't get them off me even if you were in the best shape of your life – and well, now I am in the best shape of your life and you’re in the worst shape of mine," I added with a touch of irony.

"I’m sorry, but this is my life now," I concluded, my voice firm. "I hope you can understand."

With that, I turned and walked back downstairs to rejoin my family and my beautiful boyfriend, leaving behind a bewildered Nico in my former body, grappling with the weight of my decisions.

Epilogue:

A week later, I get a call from my mom early in the morning while I am still in bed. Nonno passed away in his sleep. I feel a pang of sorrow mixed with relief, this body was officially mine forever.

I roll back over to see Emilio sleeping peacefully beside me. Leaning over, I gently kiss him on the lips, waking him from his slumber. He stirs and without opening his sleepy eyes, a soft smile graces his lips and he pulls me down into a big hug. In that moment, as I feel his skin on mine, I know with absolute certainty that this is exactly where I belong.

[tulipfantasies]

night on the town ✩ n.romanoff

pairing; natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary; a simple night on the town leads to the discoveration of pain and addiction.

characters; (mentions) og 6 and a woman named maria (not hill).

warnings; 16+ (just to be safe), use of alcohol and cigarettes, (mentions) underage smoking, (mentions) addiction, (mentions) natasha's past at the red room, (mild) swearing, (mild) jealous r, nat is ooc again, (minor) angst and fluff. 

my notes;  please, if any of the topics in bold make you uncomfortable or trigger you, do not read onwards. i don't want to upset anyone so consider it your warning. i don't think i like this one. can anyone spot the small pop culture reference??

word count; 2.6k ao3

A ‘simple night on the town’ turns into 1:04 am. 

The entire length of the streets of New York was bathed in a soft amber glow, all thanks to the street lights that were situated on every corner of the Avenues. 

Midtown, or at least the side you all find yourselves on, was eerily calm given the environment (and the atmosphere hidden on the inside) that was nestled amongst the usually busy streets.

No car horns were heard for miles on end.

For the middle of spring, the air was bitterly cold yet so freeing. In stark contrast to the air behind the secured doors, which was heavy and suffocating.

Tony, among one of his genius plans, had decided that you all deserved to take a break from your demanding and life-saving lives.

He described it as a ‘simple night out on the town’, but we all know that in Tony’s dictionary, that was an excuse for him to get shit-faced. 

So, naturally, you all tagged along to keep him out of trouble and to have a little fun yourselves.

Who could pass up a free drink and the chance to unwind anyway?

Now, none of the team members that tagged along were anywhere in sight except for those who were strictly keeping sober or physically couldn’t get drunk.

The sensible ones.

The only remaining ones were around the table in the VIP booth that Tony rented in the club.

2:45 am.

It’s been 1 hour and 41 minutes since you last saw her dancing with some brunette, who has definitely drunk more than the legal requirement.

Desperate.

1 hour and 41 minutes of scanning through the hot and heavy crowd in search of a single sign that she was still dancing with the brunette or getting another drink at the bar.

None. 

“Y/n? Where are you going?” Steve’s voice calls out over the booming music as he watches you snatch your phone from off the table impatiently.

“Need fresh air.” You reply hastily before throwing a small smile over your shoulder and in his direction.

“She’s going to find Nat,” Clint’s voice could just about be heard over the music as he was talking to Steve and you were walking further away. “Like always.”

The music was practically deafening to the ears; the last thing on a drunken mind was the volume of the music.

Sex and more alcohol always are. 

You were just silently thanking yourself that you had entered the club with a lot more self-control and had only ended up getting tipsy this time around.

Unlike Tony who was completely shit-faced.

Pushing through the thick sea of plastered couples (who were dancing in a way that was even too much for you) was a task in itself but you finally managed to reach the front doors to the club.

Soft, yet bright, light was emitted in your direction causing you to wince. 

You let out a large sigh of relief the further away you stumble from the raging nightclub, random shot glass in hand, and into the bitter air that pierced the exposed skin on your arms and legs.

A small shiver runs down your spine.

“Fancy seeing you here,” A sultry voice brings your, slightly blurred, attention away from the empty shot glass in your hand and toward the direction where it came from.

The dimly lit alleyway. “Got tired of being in there?”

“Nat!” You exclaim in relief as you slowly make your way over toward the alleyway. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you for like the past hour.”

The closer you reach her, the more of her outline you can make out.

She’s leaning up against the masonry while nursing a half-empty bottle of tequila (or vodka, it was too dark to make it out) in one hand and a lit cigarette in between her index finger and middle finger on her other.

A dangerous combo for a dangerous woman.

“I’ve been out here the entire time, detka.”

“Oh? With that brunette who was all over you like some desperate-”

“Careful now,” She cuts your words off with a smug grin and a tsk sound. “You had a lot to drink, detka?”

“Uh, yeah, a few but I’m not drunk like Tony.” You reply as you make a move to lean up against the wall opposite to her.

No other words were spoken as she raised the cigarette to her lips to take a long drag. 

Drag after drag, she slowly puffs the lethal smoke out towards the right of her while she makes sure that not once does she take her emerald gaze from off of you.

It was an intense gaze.

“But that’s beside my point, who the hell was that brunette dancing with you?” You ask abruptly with a raised brow. She chuckles in amusement at your clear jealousy. “Because she was getting way too cosy with you.”

“No one important, just someone who drunkenly came up and started dancing with me,” Natasha replies as if it never bothered her because it didn’t bother her. “Think she said her name was Maria or something.” 

Maria. “Hm, you seemed to get pretty handsy with her, do you like her?”

“Where’s all this jealousy coming from, Y/n/n?” She asks in an amused tone which is followed by a chuckle. Oh, she was enjoying this. “To be fair, it’s amusing seeing you go all green over some random girl, especially one I don’t know or have an interest in.”

“Y’know, I’d rather not discuss it.” You say, brushing off her question and ignoring her comment as you turn to face away from her so she can’t see you roll your eyes.

There’s a pregnant pause before you clear your throat and look back toward her with a slightly softened gaze.

The cigarette remains firmly pressed in between her fingers.

“Have you always smoked?” You ask, to change the subject, as you fold your arms over your chest.

Natasha doesn't reply straight away but takes another drag.

She drops the remaining bit of her cigarette onto the ground so that she can stamp harshly on it, with the sole of her shoe, just to make sure that it’s out.

“Mhm,” she hums with a shrug of her shoulders. “Just kept it to myself, I guess.”

Taking your bottom lip in between your upper front teeth, you nervously chew on it as she leans forward to slip the shot glass from out of your hand and into hers.

Without any sounds, she lets the clear liquid trickle out of the bottle and into the shot glass before gently handing it back to you.

You bring the rim of the shot glass to your lips before knocking it back in one go. Straight tequila. 

“Oh, god, that’s tequila.” You state in a strained voice and with a noticeable grimace as the liquid burns the back of your throat.

Natasha chuckles at the sight of your grimace before smiling softly as you clear your throat. “You okay there, detka?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You reply before sighing and reaching up to give your temple a quick but firm rub. “You know smoking is bad for your lungs, right? And besides, what are you out here drinking tequila straight for?”

With her fingers curled around the neck of the tequila bottle, she brings the rim of the bottle up to her lips intending to tip it back to take another swig.

But she doesn’t. 

“You only get one chance in life, detka,” she replies nonchalantly, ignoring your second question, before finally taking a swig of the alcohol. “I’ve learnt that the hard way.”

Given what she was forced to witness and trained into doing while growing up, it made some sense for her to be wishing away her life like this.

That amount of trauma is often immovable and can only be numbed by the effects of drugs and alcohol.

The Red Room raised those girls into being their bloodthirsty puppets, the ones who were forced to believe that they had no place in the world and yet here Natasha is, with her foot in the world, throwing it all away just to numb her feelings.

You never really know what you’ve got until it's too late.

The thought of going through what she had growing up made your skin crawl.

“How long have you been smoking for?” You ask cautiously as you stare at the redhead who lets out a long sigh.

From that sigh alone, you can tell it wasn’t a habit that she had recently picked up. 

“Listen, I didn’t come out to get interrogated about my unhealthy habits, so just drop it, alright?” She defends herself before she extends the neck of the bottle back over to you.

You decline with a shake of your head.

One shot of tequila is enough. You can’t stomach anymore tonight.

“How long have you been smoking, Nat?”

She lets out a defeated sigh. “Not sure. Since I was, like, 14 or 15.”

You would say that you’re surprised to hear that she’s been smoking so young but by the looks of it, smoking has become an unhealthy coping mechanism for the shit life she’s got.

You just wish it wasn’t her that was suffering like this.

“A cigarette is the least of my worries.” She replies with a shrug before closing her eyes to relive the memory.

“They drugged me with all kinds of things in the Red Room so I added to it by stealing a cigarette from a packet in a guard’s pocket. I can still remember getting in trouble now.”

Silence comes from her end as her gaze flickers down to the squashed cigarette on the floor before glancing back up at you, who peacefully analyses her.

She can’t stop.

“And it’s turned into a habit that you now can’t break.”

“Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.” 

“Does smoking and drinking like this at least make you feel better?” You ask curiously but cautiously.

When it comes to Natasha, you have to choose your words carefully.

Natasha doesn’t let her guard down around anyone yet here she was, in a dingy alleyway, letting you see the regret and pain shining in her eyes.

No, it doesn’t.

Your heart aches for her; all the cigarettes and alcohol that she’s taken over the years (outside and inside of you knowing her) haven’t numbed the pain in the way she hoped it would.

It just put her at ease for a certain amount of time.

“Oh, Tasha.” 

She doesn’t say anything else but instead, her gaze flickers away from your eyes (which she always finds herself lost in) and down to your soft-shaped lips.

So kissable. 

She could practically taste the bitterness and sweetness of the alcohol on the tip of her tongue.

At that moment, she knew that she wanted, no, needed to kiss you more than ever. 

Without any hesitation, she takes a step toward you so she can place her hands on your hips (despite still holding onto the bottle) so she can gently tug your back away from the masonry.

Her blurry gaze rests on your lips, memorising the shape and softness of them before she dips her head down slightly.

Her lips were inches away from yours. 

“Nat-”

“-Shut up and let me kiss you.” She growled before pulling you in closer so that her hot breath was fanning against your lips. 

The moment her lips crash against yours, your hands instinctively reach up to comb through her soft red locks.

She tastes like 5 different alcohols and nicotine all in one go; normally you’re not into that but, right now, you crave her. 

You didn’t want her to break the kiss any time soon but she did and instead of moving away from you, she rested her forehead against hers.

The both of you were panting softly.

“Are you addicted to them?” You whisper as your hands drop from her hair and down to cup her rosy cheeks. “The way they make you feel numb or how they make you act?”

Her forehead drops against yours as her head hangs low and the warmth her body was radiating disappears as she takes a step back from you.

A small nod confirms everything you need to know.

She’s addicted.

She stares at you as she extends her arm out so that she can carelessly throw the empty bottle of tequila as far away from her as possible.

Your grip on your shot glass loosens so the shattering noise rippling through the alleyway increases just like the pile of glass shards.

“I–I don’t know how to stop.” 

The alcohol in her system has weakened the walls she put up for her protection to the point where they were trembling.

“You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

You take a short step toward her to go back to gently cupping her cheeks in your soft hands.

She leans into your touch as a thick singular tear rolls down her cheek. 

Here she was, standing in front of you, looking vulnerable and broken. And boy, did the people of her past break her.

“I want to stop. I do but I can’t.” She admits in a soft tone as if she is worried about other people hearing her. “I’ve tried so many times.”

The glass shards crunch under your footing as you drop your touch on her cheeks to wrap your arms around her torso.

She instantly wraps her arms around you in return. 

“I promise you, I am going to help you out of this.” You whisper your promise as she buries her head into the crook of your neck.

You’re wearing the perfume that drives her crazy.

It felt as if your promise was empty but the determination flooding through your system tells you that you will not let it be empty.

You are going to help her through this, like it or not.

“Let’s go get some water so we can sober up, yeah?” You whisper as she pulls away to give you a nod of agreement. “You’re stuck with me, now, Nat.”

“There’s no one I would rather be stuck with, detka.” She whispers back as she slips her hand in between yours to squeeze it before following as you both sluggishly walk out of the alleyway.

The alleyway that you stood in, kissed in and where she bit the bullet and admitted defeat. 

The streets remain silent as the two of you stumble down them, hand in hand.

The bitter air no longer bothered you or the exposed skin that you were showing, not when you were wrapped underneath Natasha’s arm. 

“Thank you,” She says, after silence, as you two stumble onto the corner of the street to call a taxi. Thankfully there was one in the distance. “For not judging me and sticking by me. Even in my darkest times.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Natasha.” You reply as a taxi pulls up in front of you. You both climb in and mutter your destination to the driver before you turn back to look at her. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, because I’d do anything for the people that I love. And it’s safe to say that I’m in love with you.”

She smiles softly at your, slightly drunken, confession before bringing your hand up to her lips so she can press a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist and then against your palm. 

“I love you too, detka,” she whispers as she moves her head to catch your lips in for a sweet but short-lived kiss. “More than anything in this world. I love you.”

[literaryavenger]

Heartbroken

Summary: Tony helps you through your first heartbreak.

Pairing: Dad!Tony Stark x Daughter!female!reader

Warnings: Fluff. Language cause why not. Reader is hurting. Tony is an angel. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: I wanted some soft dad Tony and this came out. The end is a little rushed, I didn't know where I wanted it to go but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

You exited the elevator and made your way through the living room, not sparing anybody a second glance.

You went straight to your room and slammed the door behind you, leaving all of the avengers that were currently in the living room in a shocked silence.

That wasn’t like you.

You're a cheery and positive teenager that never misses a chance to hang out with your favorite group of superheroes.

Even during your bad days, you at least said hi and chat a bit before going to your room, so your behavior today as you came home from school leaves everyone worried.

They all know high school isn't easy, but it somehow never affected you much.

Maybe because you grew up in the spotlight, being a Stark.

You were the perfect combination of Pepper and Tony, smart and driven, sarcastic and confident, sweet and supportive. Really just a ray of sunshine in everyone’s life.

Everybody at Midtown High knows who you are and every student you meet gets surprised by how nice you are to anyone that approaches you, everyone expecting you to be a stuck up bitch.

You talk to and befriend anybody who’s nice to you, but you spend most of your time with Peter, Ned and MJ.

Speaking of which, while everybody stares at the door you just disappeared through, Peter enters the room through the window, a feat that not everyone is used to yet.

"Damn it, bug boy, stop doing that!" Sam almost yells, never failing to get startled by his abrupt entrances.

"Sorry, Mr. Falcon, sir." he says sheepishly while Bucky snickers like every other time, but before they can start bickering like always, Tony addresses Peter.

"What’s wrong with my daughter, Spider-ling?" he says in a serious tone, despite the nickname he can’t seem to get tired of.

"I don’t know, Mr. Stark. She was fine during lunch, but when school ended she was nowhere to be seen. We were suppose to meet at the exit like always but she rushed home alone. That’s why I’m here, I was worried." the more Peter talks the more Tony gets worried.

It wasn’t like you to not show up to do something you planned to do with someone else, let alone without giving a reason or at least a warning first.

Tony has heard enough so he gets up from his seat and walks towards your room, knocking twice, then once and then three times fast, a secret knock you came up with when you were little designed just for him.

He hears a faint ‘come in’ and, with furrowed eyebrows, he enters your room, finding you sitting on the bed hugging your knees to your chest.

Without saying a word he comes in, shuts the door and sits next to you, putting an arm around your shoulders. You shift to put your head in his chest and, when hug him as tightly as you can, Tony can actually feel his own heart breaking at the sight.

His little ray of sunshine, crying her heart and soul out and there's nothing more he can do but hold you. So he holds onto you just as tight as you are, willing himself not to let his own tears fall at seeing you so broken, needing to be strong for you.

After you calm down a bit, he can’t help himself as he asks "who do I have to kill?"

He feel a little better when he hears your little giggle against his chest, but he's still very worried and you both know he wasn’t entirely kidding.

He doesn’t rush you into talking, giving you time to put together your thoughts before starting to explain.

"I’ve been seeing someone..." you start, sitting up straight, sniffling, and he already doesn't like where this is going. "I’m sorry I haven’t said anything, mom knows though…"

"Of course she does." he mumbles, a little offended you would tell her and not him, and Tony Stark was never one to not voice his thoughts. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he was clearly hurt, pouting a bit just to amuse you. You giggle again as you answer.

"I’m sorry, but I know what you would’ve said: ‘You’re not allowed to date until you’re 65’" you try to imitate him with a deep voice that makes him chuckle.

"Damn right you can’t!" He says and you lighten up a little at his laughter and keep talking.

"I was going to introduce you soon, I swear! But then…" your smile falls and you can’t stop the few tears that escape. "Today, while I was waiting on Peter, I saw him…"

You trail off and he holds your hand giving you an encouraging squeeze but still not pushing you. Then, in the smallest voice he’d ever heard you use, you finish your sentence. "He was kissing another girl…"

He wished you hadn’t finished the sentence. You start crying again, quieter than before, but it still broke Tony’s heart.

"Oh, honey…" He wraps his arms around you again, mentally planning how to kill and dispose of the body of the little prick, when he hears you again, your voice barely a whisper.

"It hurts, dad… why does it hurt so much?" you still couldn’t stop crying, barely able to finish the sentence.

"I know, Tinkerbell." The use of your childhood nickname made you smile against the tears, the memory of how it came to be coming to the forefront of your mind.

You were about 6 years old, watching Peter Pan for the first time with your parents, when you started giggling uncontrollably.

Your parents gave you a funny look, expecting you to be sad at the part where Tinkerbell was dying and worried they were raising a little psychopath.

"What are you laughing at, Junior?" much to Pepper’s displeasure Tony had started calling you that, sustaining that you were turning out to be just like a little version of him.

Your mom disagreed, but was slowly changing her mind, especially after what little six year old you said next.

"Daddy’s just like Tinkerbell: if she doesn’t get attention he dies!" you got out between giggles, making Pepper almost double over laughing as Tony started a tickle attack, a fake offended look on his face.

After that your dad started calling you Tinkerbell, not able to let go of your first sarcastic comment, against him of all people, but secretly very proud.

You were brought back to the present by your dad’s words as he started rubbing your back. 

"I know it hurts now, but it’s gonna get better, I promise. Your first heartbreak is never easy, but the good news is you have your whole life ahead of you to find a guy smart enough to understand how lucky he is to be loved by you and never let you go."

Now, Tony Stark is many things.

He’s a genius, billionaire, former playboy and philanthropist. He’s an entrepreneur, a superhero, a savior. He’s a role model, a caring friend and doting husband.

But, at this very moment, you can’t help but be proud to call him your father.

You wish you could tell him that at the moment, but you can’t find the voice to speak so you make a mental note to tell him later. Right now all you can do is hug him so tight you’re not entirely sure he’s able to breathe, but he doesn’t make any attempts to make you let go.

The next couple of hours are spent between hugs, words of encouragement and Tony trying everything he can to make you laugh.

When he succeeds in lifting your spirits, you both make your way to the living room where all of the Avengers are now, Pepper included. You sit next to her and she wraps her arm around you, having already been updated on the situation, of course.

Everyone else seemed to have come to a mutual understanding of not pressing the matter, knowing you’ll open up when you’re ready and not wanting to upset you again now that you’re back to your cheery self.

You’re glad nobody’s asking any questions, acting like nothing happened, exactly what you need right now.

You spend the rest of the day with your family, forgetting all about your broken heart, realizing you’re better off without him.

At one point your dad whispers to you "I still need the name of the little jerk, so I can fuck him up" and you can’t help but laugh, more glad than ever to be lucky enough to be a Stark.

[msbigredmachine]

Netflix & [Redacted] - (Jey Uso/OC)

Is this the most awesomely stressful movie night ever? 😩

PAIRING: Jey Uso x Plus Size!OC

Word Count: 7.3k words

A/N: I'm back to talking too much 😖😂 I've missed writing Jey. Hope it's not too long. Enjoy!

-------------------

It's been a quiet Friday night so far, just the two of you, the 52-inch screen TV showing a random movie he picked on Netflix. But as it stands, neither of you are watching it at the moment, or anytime soon for that matter - what you're doing right now is far more...entertaining.

Laid up together on the sunken sectional in his living room, you indulge in each other's mouths. The fluffy blanket meant to be keeping you warm is discarded somewhere; the sensual heat currently radiating between you doing a stellar job already. The sexual tension has been simmering all night, been simmering since you first laid eyes on each other months ago.

You've never dared to get involved with a client...until him. Having started to tire of the male species in general, this insanely attractive man seemingly appeared from the hidden depths of your wildest dreams. It was at an open house viewing for one of the luxury apartments you were selling in midtown Atlanta. A movie cannot do justice to showcase the electricity that sizzled between you two when he walked through the door. He was charming and funny, fun to talk to, and incredibly sexy. You could tell he was a bad boy, and honestly, you've always had a thing for bad boys. Three other potential clients came in but you hardly paid any attention to them, wrapped up in your lengthy conversation with him and discovering how much you had in common. It culminated with his check in your hand and your phone number in his. Now, just a few months later, you're letting him kiss all over you in his newly furnished apartment that you sold to him, 100% sure that you're finally going all the way tonight.

His large hand smooths along your bare thigh and briefly toys with the hem of your lilac boy shorts. He coaxes a breathless gasp from you when his fingers splay over your ass cheek, gathering as much of the expansive flesh as he can, while he keeps your back warm with his other hand tucked inside the Niutat hoodie that you "stole" from him.

"Mmm, you kiss so good, girl," he coos, complimenting his praises with another kiss.

"So do you," you giggle against his mouth and hold his wrist resting on your butt. "I'm still getting used to how handsy you are."

"Don't mind me, baby. Your body is so fuckin' sexy," he replies, shaking off your grip to keep touching on you. "All this extra juicy thickness for me to play with, I know that's right..."

It feels like you've hit the jackpot with Jey Uso. He is 100% your type; big and brown-skinned, strong and drop-dead gorgeous. Yet, so different from the others. He's a fighter and a nomad, literally and figuratively. Boatloads of charisma. Deceptively smart with a way with words and the ability to get people to do whatever he wants. You've seen him work his magic first-hand with his fans and wrestling audiences everywhere, and admittedly you've fallen under his spell too. You're immensely attracted to him, and though you've tried to take things slow, you're all but certain that all of that will change tonight, and you're in equal parts excited and terrified.

Yet, your bold actions take over as you cheekily nibble on his ear and rub your leg back and forth on the crotch of his thin shorts. This drags another growl from him as his eyes darken menacingly.

"You tryna start somethin' huh. Best believe I'ma finish it," he warns, licking his full lips revealing his silver grill peeking between them.

"I ain't startin' nothin'," you contest, your breath hitching when he lightly squeezes your ass and then smacks it.

"Yeah right, you rubbin' up on me like this, kissin' on me...I know you tryna tell Daddy sumn'..."

Fuck. The whole 'Daddy' thing does a lot of unholy things to your loins. Even though sex hasn't happened yet, the makeout sessions are out of this world. All your dates have ended with passionate kissing and touching, with him having to say goodbye and leaving your lips swollen, your clothing rumpled, your heart beating like crazy and your pussy drowning from the salacious foreplay you keep subjecting yourself to. "I just like kissing you, that's all," you murmur shyly with a blush.

"I like kissin' you too, ma. You got the softest." Kiss. "Sexiest." Kiss. "Sweetest lips I've ever tasted." One more kiss. "I'd like to do other things to you, but you frontin'," he adds.

Sucking your teeth, you sit up straight and glance up at the ceiling to avoid the heat of his stare. "Stop, we do stuff..." you retort quietly.

"Like what? This?" His hands sneak back under your hoodie to cup your breasts, rubbing them in circular motions. Your stiff nipples tighten some more from his touch, straining almost uncomfortably through the confines of your bra. "We should be doing more, baby. I know you want to," he says, making his low, deep syrupy voice even sexier.

"You are so dangerous. I should be runnin' far away from you, ya know."

"And yet you're here, with your overnight bag in my room and wearin' them tiny ass booty shorts with no panties. You exactly where you wanna be," he counters smoothly. "By the way, got rid of your booty call yet? What that fool's name again?"

He just has to bring Lawrence up, doesn't he? "Got rid of your hoes yet? What's their names?" you shoot right back.

Honestly, the less said about your failed relationships, the better. It was complicated, for both of you. Lawrence is an ex you've muddied the waters with by sleeping with him occasionally. Jey recently finalized his divorce from a woman he'd been with since college and was now sowing his wild oats, garnering a number of side pieces in the process. You 'met' two of them at his cookout party a couple of weeks back. Apparently they had shown up unannounced, his sister-in-law Trinity informed you. Trin had taken a shine to you and was kind enough to fill you in on your potential boyfriend's dalliances. You don't share your men under any circumstances, but if that apparatus between his legs is half as talented as his mouth and hands, then you're willing to forgo that caveat.

"I know you forgot all about your man when you first laid eyes on me. I saw the way you looked at me," Jey boasts.

"Only cuz you were lookin' right back," you say. "I just couldn't believe a man could have such pretty eyes," you elaborate, knowing that will make him smile and it does; his dimples deepen and make him look cuter. He is so handsome, and you are finding him harder and harder to resist.

"I remember that dress you was wearing. That big ol' booty was cryin' out to me, bruh. Beggin' me to squeeze and manhandle it in all the right ways. I wanted to bend you over that kitchen counter over there, give you da bidness, know what I mean?"

"And I remember I couldn't stop watching your lips move when you were talking to me," you add, inwardly swooning as you reminisce. "It don't help that you got this habit of licking them every five seconds..."

"I know somewhere I can lick," he drawls. He's pinning those hypnotic eyes on you now, again, looking at you all hot and sensual like he wants to devour you. With his fingers, he gently pushes your cheeks together to part your mouth and slide his tongue inside. Thick and warm, it lavishes the insides of your mouth. Before Jey, kissing was never this...intimate...for you. Nothing you experienced before remotely matched the passionate scenes in romantic films that swept the characters off their feet. Jey's kisses do just that. They are the kind that make you forget your name and sweep you off the ground never to come down again.

"How 'bout we finish the movie, hmm?" you suggest breathlessly.

"Later," he dismisses, and pats his thighs. "Sit on my lap and face me, beautiful."

The nerves rush through your body, but you're currently fueled by wine and want, so you oblige him. As you straddle him, you fight back a moan as his erection nudges persistently against your core. His arm winds around your waist to pull you in, kissing you with the same measured, drugging nature with a little bit of aggressiveness mixed in this time. His hands run up your spine and then back down to grasp your cheeks, squeezing them each time. He growls into your mouth as your fingers trail a path from his chest, up his broad shoulders and all the way to his blue-tinged mullet, tugging the back of his hair.

"Mmm, yeah, get rough with me, baby," he moans. He loves it when you yank and pull at him when you kiss, it always proves his point that you want to fuck as much as he does. His thick tongue pokes out, darting beneath the seam of your lips, and you catch it with a long suck that has him moaning his pleasure. In retaliation, both hands make their way inside your shorts to grab your round ass, his fingertips grazing your pussy lips from behind.

"I want you, Y/N. I want that pussy." he murmurs.

His dick is growing harder against you, and it feels so big that you're unable to stop yourself from grinding down on it. His grip is firm and possessive as he rocks you on top of him like you are riding him. You moan needily from the building sensations, your arousal spiraling out of control already. You make an attempt to climb off of him, but he grunts in protest and holds you down on him. Though you're on the heavier side of the weight spectrum, he's still bigger than you and definitely much stronger, and he's not letting you escape at all.

"Fuck," you gasp against his lips, feeling his long fingers dig into the soft, bare flesh of your backside as you dry-hump each other. They breach the crack of your ass before teasing the outer lips of your pussy from the back. Before he can sink one finger inside you, you manage to tear yourself away and distance yourself, your lips parted and panting.

"I'm scared, okay?" you blurt out.

For a long moment, Jey stares at you, his expression unreadable. "Scared of what?" he asks patiently.

You cringe as his hands clench into fists on his lap, sensing his palpable frustration. Shit, why did you have to open your fucking mouth? Shaking your head, you look away. "Never mind," you mumble, feeling stupid already.

"Hey, don't do that," he chides you firmly, though his eyes are kind and curious. "Tell me what's wrong. I won't know how to help if you don't."

A small, nervous sigh escapes your lips. Right now you want to get your stuff and run home never to come back, but you steel your nerves and open up. "I'm scared of the disappointment. Sex-wise, I mean. Me being disappointed or you being disappointed or both. Lawrence also talked all that shit to get me to have sex with him again," you ramble, making a motion with your hands to mimic talking, "Bragged and bragged about what I was missing and all the shit he was gonna do to me. It's been weeks and not once has he made me come...I have to do it myself afterwards every time. He said he was still getting used to fucking a big girl again. Yes, I know he's a punk bitch and I need to get rid of him. But I feel like I've forgotten how to have good sex and I don't want more of the same here."

There, you've said it. You can't bring herself to look at Jey, and your cheeks heat up under his scrutinizing gaze. You know he's assessing your words and he probably thinks you're a weirdo and you won't blame him if he does.

"That fucking dumbass."

Stunned, you look back up at him, intrigued by the way he shakes his head like a disappointed father. "Ay, you gotta send that jabroni packin', uce," he replies, "You can't be wasting premium pussy on that lame ass motherfucker. You need a man that know how to take care of you like you deserve. No real man gets off and leaves their lady hangin'. That's fuckin' wack, bruh."

He reaches up to cup your chin between his fingers, his gaze soft and tender. "Now that you've told me this, I wanna fuck you more than ever," he continues, "I wanna take my good ol' time withchu, so I know what you want and how you like it. I want you to feel so good you won't see that nut coming. I can show you a whole lotta things, pretty girl, but only if you let me."

Wow. You absorb his strong confident words that temporarily make you forget your fears. Is he telling the truth? Will he be able to give you what you truly need?

Before you can respond, a sudden loud moan that doesn't come from either of you startles you. You look to the TV and your jaw drops as you witness the main characters of the movie going at it in a bathroom stall in what looks like a nightclub.

"Damn, they fuckin' fuckin'," Jey comments. And he's right. For fake sex, it looks realistic as hell, with the actress' hands on the wall, her exposed breasts bouncing, her moans throaty and desperate as the guy pounds her aggressively from behind. You squirm in your seat as the scene seems to go on and on. This is surely a sign for you and Jey to finally get it on. You dare to peek at him to catch his reaction. He looks fascinated, a lopsided smirk on his face, his eyes dark and filled with unbridled desire. Your eyes fall to the outline of his crotch, his erection twisted to the side thanks to your earlier shenanigans and what he's watching now.

"Okaaaaay, I think it's time for more wine," you announce loudly, jumping up and grabbing both your empty wine glasses. 

Helping himself to some popcorn, Jey eyes you with a smirk as you scurry across the open plan layout of the room. Seeing you flustered is only making him want you more. With just the kitchen lights turned on he can see you more clearly. Your thick thighs and fat juicy ass are barely hiding that chocolate pussy he wants to feast on and dig out so badly. "Why you runnin', girl?" he calls out.

"I'm not," you lie, doing your best to block out the sultry moans and slapping skin coming from the TV as you pick up a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. "Which one do you want? White or red?"

"Only one thing I want right now, baby," he answers unabashedly.

You blush profusely and shake your head, "Chill, Uce."

"Call me Uce again and we gon' have problems," he warns.

That surprises you. "Thought you said your friends call you Uce."

"Not friends that I wanna fuck."

Good Lord. In his defense, Jey has made no bones about how much he wants you and you're not sure you can hold out for much longer. This is the man you've been hoping for, the man you've desperately needed to make you feel alive again. Lawrence made you question your confidence when he acted like he was doing you a favor by sleeping with you. But Jey seems different; he seems genuinely interested in making you come and making you feel good. It's just a case of you being brave enough to give in to him completely.

"Earth to Y/N."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice right behind you, which is quickly followed by his hard body pressing against your back. Of course you've spaced out thinking about sex with him. It's not the first time.

"You good?" he asks.

"Yeah, sorry, one glass of red wine coming right up," you stutter, struggling to keep a steady hand to pour some into his glass. His dick is hard against your ass, no thanks to the smut playing on TV, with the couple now having sex inside a car. He's all up on you, making you feel every plane and every ridge on his hard, chiseled body. His muscular arms wrap you in a big hug, at one with the fleshy softness of your body as he kisses your ear.

"You're turned on, huh? Seein' them two fucking like that? That why you ran?" he whispers, his baritone voice laced with mischief. "Want me to fuck you like that?"

The answer on the tip of your tongue evaporates as he reaches down to squeeze the chunk of skin on your inner thigh. His lips find the nape of your neck, and you move almost on autopilot as you sweep your goddess braids to the side to allow him full access to your throat. His wet, open-mouthed kisses, suckling on your pulse like a damn vampire, are driving you crazy. His large body envelopes yours, pressing your stomach into the counter, his legs purposely spread to grind himself against your backside. The throbbing sensation in your nipples and your clit makes you gulp down both your glasses in one go.

Jey's hand goes down the front of your shorts, your body going slack as he rubs the wetness that has pooled between your legs. You can't stop the throaty sounds that he loves so much from escaping. You're a soaked mess and for Jey, it's like a shark smelling blood.

"The movie, remember?" you breathe, your resolve slipping away as you look back at him, his lustful grin making your heart pound.

"Fuck the movie, let's make our own," he says. Your mouths collide again, kissing so deeply and hungrily it's almost impossible to tell who ends where and who starts where. This is nothing like the other comparably tame liplocks from earlier. He's telling you exactly what he wants and he plans to get it now.

Turning you around, he descends slowly to his knees before you and takes his time dragging your shorts down your legs. You look on helplessly, your anxiety battling with your desire as he palms your thigh and props your right leg over his shoulder, licking his lips at the sight of your bare folds glistening for him. He breathes you in, basking in the scent he plans to familiarize himself with. He looks up at you, and what you see in his eyes dries up your throat.

"Pretty ass pussy. Lemme eat it up, babe," he growls.

He pushes his face against your center and penetrates you with his tongue. Crying out in pleasure, you grip the sides of the counter for balance as the pressure from his mouth ramps up immediately, his long fingers molding your ass, his breath warming your core, his tongue finding every crevice you own with devastating strokes as he licks up every drop of your arousal for him.

With trembling hands, you lift the hem of your hoodie up to your chest while weaving your other fingers through the soft waves of his hair, holding him to you. He's doing the most delicious things to you, coaxing your juices out of your pussy. You can feel his tongue inside you, his mouth getting wetter and sloppier with your juices and his saliva running down your thigh. You want to die as he twirls his tongue all over your protruding clit, his pace unhurried as he holds your leg tight, smothering his face between your thighs, and that familiar warmth starts to brew in your stomach.

"Oh my god, Jey..."

The pitch of your moans increases. You keep squirming, trying to pull away, but he clamps his arms around your waist to hold you still. You're not going anywhere. He knows you're close from the way you throb on his tongue and picks up the pace, lapping wildly at your folds then gently biting your clit. "That's it, come in my mouth," he orders huskily.

"Ohhhhhh...." you squeal, throwing your head back as you flood his mouth with your release. This is the hardest you've orgasmed in about a year and your mind is blown. Jey remains glued to you, his dangerous mouth making you quiver again as you already feel another approaching. You were confident he would get the job done, but he has delivered tenfold in just a matter of minutes. You have a feeling you'll be retiring your vibrator real soon.

The sounds coming out of you as you come a second time are otherworldly, making Jey harder than he's been in a long time. You're definitely the sweetest he's ever tasted. It's there and then he decides he can't hold back anymore. He needs to have you, now.

Dragging you away from the counter, he lifts your body, limp and weak from pleasure, into his arms effortlessly, carrying you back to the living room and sitting carefully on the massive couch with you on top of him.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asks with a predatory look in his eyes as he tugs the hem of your hoodie.

"Mm-hmm," you reply, allowing him to drag the garment up and above your head. Your gaze falls on the small square foil packet that's appeared in his right hand. This is really happening.

"Say that shit with your full chest, look me in the eye. You sure you can handle me?" he questions.

"The question is, Mr. Main Event, can you handle all this?" Leaning back a little, you spread your legs far apart and pat your exposed pussy with a raised eyebrow, the wine in your system ramping up your bravery as you taunt him.

Jey rebuttals with a full, open-mouthed kiss that curls your toes as you taste yourself. The embrace intensifies while he unhooks your bra from behind, letting his calloused fingers play with the softness of your breasts. You moan at the urgency in his touch, the feel of his clothed dick bumping against your bare, wet center. He pulls away, not taking his eyes off you as he whips his t-shirt over his head, revealing all those beautiful tribal tattoos he shows off on TV, his taut abs sprinkled with a little hair that trails down south. You move off him to pull his shorts down his hips, and you zero in on the large wet stain on his gray cotton briefs. You almost can't believe it's you that's done that to him. He unwraps the last of it, and you take in the glorious vision of his briefs falling away too, allowing his cock to spring free.

"Shit," you exclaim.

Jey looks down at himself, then back at you. "Good shit or bad shit?" he smirks.

"Both." You can't take your eyes off it. Long, caramel brown and girthy with a curve to it, destined to reach that spot inside you that will make you cry. Fuck. It's going to hurt so good; you can already feel it sliding inside...

"I wanna suck it, Daddy," you tell him sweetly, closing up the space between his sturdy thighs. You pick up his dick at the base; it's as heavy as it looks, thick and veiny and yet smooth at the same time. You like the way it twitches when you stroke it lightly in your hand, and like it even more when he moans in reaction. You wind your tongue around the slit of his head to lick up the precum hanging there, and then wrap your lips around his flesh. He fills your mouth right away, stretching it dangerously. It's a tight fit, but lucky for you...and him...you love a challenge.

As you swallow him up, a deep, contented groan escapes Jey's body, making him toss his head back and sink into the sectional as his dick sinks further into your mouth. Your mouth is so warm, your lips so soft as they glide expertly up and down his length. With another moan, his hand curves around the back of your head, clenching his fingers in your braids when your lips dare to meet his pelvis. Your tongue lashes around the base before you release him, a long string of saliva trailing after you as you pull back to breathe for a second, then dive back in.

He loves the sight of you on your knees before him, torturing him with your dizzying oral prowess. His stomach clenches as your other hand slips over his balls, massaging them lovingly in your palm, making him pulse in your mouth. Catching his glazed-over gaze, you flutter your lashes innocently at him, then flash him a devilish wink as you take every inch of his cock down your throat, savoring the taste of him. His hand tightens in your hair, as do his balls when you start to suck him harder and stroke him faster, and he knows he won't last long if he lets you carry on like this.

"Damn girl, I ain't tryna nut yet." He tugs your hair hard enough to pull you off him, his breath catching at the sight of his dick plopping wetly against his abs with your saliva all over it. He puts the latex on as quickly as possible and meets your famished eyes. "Come up here, babe, come fuck me," he beckons to you with a crook of his finger.

You kiss along his dick, up his abs and chest, and then his neck. He helps you straddle him and covers your mouth with a slew of smoldering kisses. Using his free hand to grasp his dick at the base, he lines it up with your pussy, grunting softly when he feels your wetness against his hard dick. You press your chest into his, your ass lowering to welcome him inside you. Your jaw drops as your pussy stretches around him. His girth and length are invasive in the best way, and you whine softly as he slowly guides your hips down to meet him halfway. "Fuck..." you gasp.

"Too much?" he asks with a shaky voice, just as affected as you are by your joining.

Swallowing hard, you ignore the quivering of your thighs and shake your head. "I can take it," you breathe. At least, you hope you can.

"Good girl," he groans and runs his hands along your sides, "C'mon, ride me."

His hold on your waist is firm as you rise and fall on his erection, lifting up and down, circling your hips with each drop down. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He's so deep inside you; it's a miracle you're not screaming down his apartment. He can't resist burying his face in your soft titties, practically motorboarding them while you work him, looking down occasionally at the way your hips roll. He returns your hazy stare with a cocky smirk, flashing his grill between his full lips.

"Jey..."

"Yeah, baby? Feel good?" he asks with a breathless kiss. You reply by adjusting into a squat, gripping the backrest behind him as you take the reins from him and ride him harder. Jey meets you thrust for thrust, grunting as your tight little pussy pulls and tugs around him. You tuck your face in his neck, moaning into his skin. His strong arms hold you close, keeping you chest to chest. One large hand scrapes down to your right ass cheek, smacking the skin hard as you bounce up and down on his cock. Both of you groan and grind together, time and space ceasing to exist as you lose yourselves in each other.

"You feel incredible, baby, so damn tight," Jey whispers, his palms running from the back of your neck down your spine, over your hips and resting under your thighs. "Damn, I'm deep in this pussy, girl, make me wanna take this damn rubber off..."

You moan at his dirty words, your palms planted on his hard pecs and moaning even louder as he steers you on his dick, his fingers pressed into your hip bones as he grinds you onto him, stimulating your sweet spot with a delicious precision that unlocks you again.

"Uuuuugh," your voice sounds strangled as another orgasm washes over you. Your body trembles from head to toe from how hard you're coming all over his cock. Jey chuckles against your throat, his lips brushing soft kisses over your thrumming flesh. Your fingers thread through his hair, your face pressed to his to catch your breath as he rolls you onto your back.

As he kneels between your spread legs, your mouth waters as he grabs his dick and massages it, spreading your cum all over the length, his heavy breathing matching yours. The lights emanating from the TV work wonders for his caramel skin and the muscles adorning his frame. His beautiful dark irises sparkle like fireworks as he taps your pussy with his dick, making you jerk from the sudden shock of it. Your legs recoil instinctively, but he pushes your thigh down to your chest and does it again and again, until all you can hear over your moans is the splashing of your pussy from the pressure of his heavy cock. It sounds so good and gushy, just the way he wants it. He hoses you down with that sexy ass smirk of his, causing you to whimper with a desperate need for him to be inside you again.

"Mm-hmm," he murmurs with appreciative eyes, "You look so hot, babe, buck naked, laid out on my couch with this pretty cunt wet and open. I should punish your fine ass for holding out on me, but it's a'ight. We both gettin' what we want, and that's this big dick deep in this fat pussy. You gon' get every inch of Daddy's dick."

He pulls you towards him, draping your legs over his. He grabs his dick again and guides himself slowly into you, one inch at a time. Your hand rests on his hip, your eyes fixated as you watch him sink deeper and deeper. Your legs curl around his waist, your heels digging into his backside as he starts moving. Your head tips backwards with a wanton moan; the angle with which he's fucking you has you feeling like he's in your stomach. The base of his cock grinds sensually against your clit with every deep thrust, whipping your insides into a frenzy of sensations.

"Shit, baby..."

"Yeah, this how I fuck good pussy, I stroke it just like this. Fuuuck," his taunts dissolve in a moan as pleasure licks his spine. With another touch of his mouth to yours, he shoves your thighs against your chest and keeps feeding you the dick, making a hiss escape from the back of your throat. He pulls all the way out to the tip of his dick before sinking back inside, repeating this until your pussy is making squelching sounds surrendering to his strokes. Your arms wind around his shoulders, luring him down to keep him close to you. You stare into his dilated pupils. His salt-and-pepper beard gleams with traces of your first two nuts and the visual is erotic as hell. It's fascinating to watch the storm in his eyes, his pouty lips parted with pleasure, his muscles flexing as the strength of his thrusts intensifies.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." The smacks of his pelvis grow harder, punching groans out of you. Baby boy is knocking the Sonic rings out of your pussy now, and your eyes roll in the back of your head as he holds your thick thighs down while he pounds into your heat, leaving you gasping like a fish out of water. Jey paws at your breast, flicking your nipple with his fingers, and you can feel your brain short-circuiting as several million nerve endings ignite within you.

"Mmm, am I handlin' it now huh? Am I handlin' it?" he throws your words back at you.

"Yes, Daddy," you moan, your fingers sinking into his back.

"You know this pussy mine, right?" he says, his eyes boring into yours.

"Uh huh," you choke out, gasping as he grinds into you for a few seconds, then resumes pumping into you again. The switch-up is crazy.

"That's my girl. My pretty girl with my pretty pussy." Your mouths clash noisily, his hands massaging and caressing all over your voluptuous body. It's a known fact that Jey loves women of all types. But there's something about a thick, sexy, pillow-soft woman with soft and delicate features that drives him wild. They are his favorite, and he knew the moment he first saw you that he would not rest until he had you. Now that he has, he concludes that Lawrence is never getting you back.

He leans back up and releases your breast to wrap his hand around your throat, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as your pussy instantly moistens around him. "Ahh, you like that? Like to be choked like a bad girl? Like a naughty lil' slut?"

It's the nasty talk for you. Nothing sounds as sexy as shit-talking done right, and boy, he's doing it so right. He means every word he's saying, and even sexier, he's backing it up with spectacular fucking that you already know you'll never get enough of. Being someone who wrestles for a living, he knows how to make his touch firm and gentle in all the right moments. It's a deadly skill that he's using on you expertly, and you know from this night forward, you're ruined. You just know it.

Letting out a low growl, Jey fucks you faster, harder, watching your face contort with pleasure. He has you making so much noise with both your mouth and your pussy. He barely hears your mewling warning that you're about to come again, deciding to up the ante by hitching your legs over his elbows and fucking you into the couch. The back of your head mashes almost uncomfortably against the bottom of the headrest, but you take no notice because you're feeling too good. Your moans morph into screams which are quickly cut off as his hand tightens around your throat, making you look into his eyes and making you take it. Your nut comes crashing down so hard you're seeing stars. You're a moaning, shivering mess, your hands pressing his abs in a futile attempt to stop your pussy from gushing all over his groin and messing up his brand new sectional. But he doesn't seem to care.

"Nah, baby, take this dick like you said you can," he growls with gritted teeth. He grips you tight, yanking you up closer to his groin and thrusting faster into you. "Unnh, look at that. Look at that wet ass pussy comin'. This dick real good, huh babe?"

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into? You're dealing with a literal demon. You want to throw in the towel, wave the white flag. The orgasms you've already experienced have you feeling paralyzed, unable to move even as your ass rests in a large wet spot on the couch.

"Jey, please, baby, wait," Your pitiful moans fall on deaf ears as he pulls out and flips you over before you can finish your sentence. When he cups your pussy from behind, you arch your ass and automatically spread your thighs, grinding against his fingers. You feel like such a slut. One minute you're begging him to stop, the next you're riding his damn hand. Deep down inside you love it, love the myriad of sensations and emotions you haven't felt since before you met this Samoan specimen.

The fun and games continue as his fingers are replaced by his plum-shaped dickhead pushing back into your wet pussy. Both of you groan hungrily as the friction is nonexistent now thanks to your sopping slickness. Another moan falls from your lips as he smacks your ass while grinding into you, making himself fit all the way in and basking in your little noises as you accommodate him. He eases you flat onto your belly, nudging your thighs wider apart, hunching over you as he works his magic all over again, stroking in that pussy until your eyes are in the back of your head. "Fuck, I'm deeper in that shit baby, holy fuck," he gasps, one hand pressing into your back to hold you down, the other braced beside your head as he rails you hard and deep.

The fullness you feel in your pussy and stomach, the jiggles of your ass from his thighs bumping into it, your creamy cum coating his dick and balls which he feeds back to you...you feel them all at once. There's only one person's sex you want from this day forth, and it's Jey's. You want his big ass dick every damn day. It is a high that you never want to come off of. You're obsessed with the way it makes your body feel, the way it makes your prim and proper self shout and moan and undulate with no inhibitions.

Lawrence who?

"Oooh," you whine over and over into the pillow pressing your face, your vision starting to blur, "oooh, oooh, you feel gooood Daddy..."

Jey moans in your ear, snaking a hand back around your throat and giving it a light squeeze, "How good? I bet you gon' come again," he taunts.

The pressure of his fingers on each side of your neck ensures that every breath you take is shallower than the last as he drives in and out of your pussy, in and out, his long, thick shaft finding your g-spot each time he slides home. It doesn't take long for you to explode, shaking uncontrollably beneath his heavy warmth. His dirty talk has done you in again. His head drops down to suckle your neck, humming his appreciation as his hips wind into you with added vigor.

"Daddy..." your voice is barely above a whisper, and even then, your breath is stolen from you when he squeezes your ass cheeks and then slaps each one hard, repeating the action mid-thrusts. He's ruthless, making your pussy sing filthy, shameless, raunchy noises that cause that familiar burn to heat you up for yet another delicious climax.

"Let Daddy pound out his pussy, baby, let Daddy pound that shit," Jey says, raising himself up, yanking your ass up with him as he kneels behind you, not missing a single stride. Your thick hips are in his grasp, his thumbs pressed in the small of your back to keep your arch steady. He's fucking you so damn good. The amount of pleasure he's gifted your sex-starved body in multiple positions has left you speechless. This is a dicking down for the ages, one you never thought you would experience in your lifetime.

A shiver runs up your back as his fingers slip down to rub your clit, exacerbating all the sensations swimming within your body. Your mouth falls wide open but you have been robbed of all capacity to speak, reduced to loud incoherent groans as his hips snap relentlessly against your ass.

"Look at me, baby girl," Jey commands gruffly when you stuff your face into the pillow to muffle your screams, "Look at me. Let me see that beautiful face as you come."

You do as he says, acutely aware of how fucked out you must look right now. As you twist your upper body towards him, you drink in his own expression, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his brows furrowed, his body actually trembling a little as he buries his cock in you. You realize he's losing control too, his impending climax pulling him under. He looks so sexy, it feels so good that it overwhelms you and triggers your orgasm, ecstasy ripping through you with brute force.

"Oh my god, Jey," you lick your dry lips, your strength depleted from the barrage of pleasure. You feel, as well as hear his own husky moan through his mouth pressed to yours as as your pussy tenses around his dick swelling inside you.

"Unhhh, I'm comin', I'm comin' for you, baby," he rasps; this big strong man so weak and helpless for you that you're aroused anew. He grinds desperately against you, stuttered breaths leaving both your throats as your world spirals. You let out a stunned yelp when he slams into you once and then freezes, his cock throbbing as he empties inside you. The guttural moan he lets out as he comes hard is the sexiest thing you've ever heard. It's fascinating to see him fall apart like this, enraptured in total pleasure as he gives himself to you. You miss him the second he pulls out of you. He slumps down next to you, exhaling hard and heavy, and you crawl into his waiting arms for a cuddle. It's then you realize the room is darker than usual; the end credits of that X-rated film are rolling.

"You know you ain't goin' home this weekend, right?" Jey informs you, rubbing your backside with a lick of his lips and hooded hungry eyes. It's an order, not a request, because he's not letting you go anywhere, not after the indescribable high he's just experienced.

"I'm not sure I can even think right now. I'm so damn weak," you half-sigh, half-giggle, leaning into him as he trails soft kisses along your shoulder.

"Whatchu need? Water? Energy drink?" he offers.

"Water, please," you answer meekly, and he is up from the couch and in the kitchen in a flash. Watching him walk away with that back tattoo and that firm, fine ass sends a thrill of lust to your pussy which still quivers between your thighs. You're almost afraid to touch it, you know it's definitely beat up, all sloppy and puffy from his licking and rubbing and fucking.

He returns with two bottles of water and hands one to you. You thank him and twist open the cap to gulp it down, appreciating the cool liquid gliding down your parched throat. Jey reclines beside you and chugs his bottle in one go. You can't help but ogle his caramel steel rod, the condom gone, yet still hard and streaked with your collective cum. You blush when he catches your wandering eye, chuckling to himself as he wraps his arms around your waist and eases you onto his lap. He strokes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, and then kisses you deeply. You cup his bearded chin, enjoying his little hums mingling with yours as your tongues tangle together. When you pull back, you swoon at the dreamy look in his gorgeous eyes with a dreamy, sated smile of your own.

"You made me come in every position. That's never happened before," you tell him.

His lip curls proudly at your statement. "Well, I got a couple more positions to test out. We just gettin' started."

Your words lodge in your throat at the seriousness in his voice. "Really?" you squeak out.

"Yep. We goin' to the bedroom soon. We doin' this all night, bae," he says.

"Damn. You're threatening me with a good time, but can a bitch breathe first?" you jokingly gripe, but the knowing gleam in his eye tells you he's not joking. At all. Your pussy flutters despite the beating it's already taken.

"Of course." His response is salaciously cryptic, letting the words hang in the air as he leans in for another gentle kiss. "So...were you disappointed?"

"With this? Hell no! Not at all. It was amazing."

Again, that damn smirk. "I agree. And there's a lot more where that came from." He points at the bottle in your hand. "Drink up, baby girl. You gon' need all the energy you can get."

THE END.

---------------------

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[kyber-kisses]

The Red String

Miguel Ohara x Spider!reader

Summary: Legend has it, there is an invisible red thread that connects us to those we are destined to meet. Regardless of time, place, or circumstances. It may stretch and tangle but never break.

Warnings: slight ATSV spoilers, cursing, canon typical violence.

A/N: HI FELLOW SIMPS! Please enjoy this mediocre fic that I wrote because I’m in love with Miguel.

A freak.

That’s what you felt like.

But surprising enough it wasn’t due to the enhanced spider abilities like crawling up the walls and sensing a flying projectile from a mile away.

No. No, it was the issue with your fucking soul string.

Letting out a deep sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the fire escape, pulling off your glove as you examined your hand. . . Or more accurately; your pinkie finger.

The thin faded string tied around your small finger was nothing but a hinderance to you at this point. When your mind was supposed to be on New York and keeping the streets safe it was instead occupied with thoughts about the stupid little string.

Everyone had one. Hell, everyone was born with one. A soul string. Only you and one other person can see your string. To everyone else it’s invisible. Like a sort of ghost others can walk through and not even notice.

The other end of it was tied to your soulmate.

Most people go out and find theirs between the time they’re twenty and thirty, others just wait for the moment to come naturally. But in the end it was a universal fact: everyone had a soulmate.

Except for you apparently.

It was either that or they had died at some point. Either way, the end of your string didn’t go anywhere. It was a faded red and only stretched a few feet in front of you before fading into nothing. It went no where.

And that’s why you were thankful only you could see your string because of others knew. . . Oh boy would you be an outcast.

Then again, you already felt like one.

“Stupid fucking thing-“ you hissed, scraping your finger along where the string was tied in a futile attempt to get it off. But like always. . . It didn’t work. Your finger phased through it as if it were nothing more than a figment of your imagination. In other words: it wasn’t on the physical plane of existence.

You don’t know why you let it bother you so much, like hell- you were a fucking web slinging superhero, what more did you need?

As of being able to tell you were caving in on yourself, the police radio next to you crackled to life.

“Yeah, we got some sort of hi-tech robotic octopus dude climbing up the side of the bank on east 48th, we need back up over here—“

A groan of annoyance left your lips as you swung your legs back onto the fire escape, pulling your mask back on before tossing the radio into your bag.

It was always fucking something.

Why didn’t the universe ever allow you just fives minutes of peace? Sometimes all you wanted was to wallow in self pity but no. New York had to keep pumping out new villains by the handful.

But at least the journey from Greenpoint to Midtown was quick. All you had to do was go down Huron Street, leap across a few moving ferries before swinging through the midtown tunnel. Practically a walk in the park.

At least it was until you got to your destination.

Despite the obnoxious amount of light pollution that New York gave off, the explosions were easy to see and so was the weird fucking guys scaling the side of the bank with. . . What were those? Tentacles.

Coming to a stop on a roof a block or so down, you observed the scene quickly, finding potential ways to bring the guy down along with potential exit strategies of things went side ways.

It was only when you were readying yourself to dive off the side of the building and begin your attack did all your movements falter. Skidding across the gravel rooftop, you stopped at the ledge, watching with wide eyes as some other. . . person grappled with the guy you were gunning for.

A person. . . Who seems to have similar abilities to you?

Beneath your mask your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you watched the figure swing around them, dodging blows as swiftly and quickly as you did.

At the same time the faded red string around your finger faltered. The band glitching into a violent pixelated mess before resorting to its regular bland old self once more.

You really couldn’t catch a break couldn’t you?

With an annoyed shake of your head you focused your attention back to the other spider person and the tentacle guy on the wall.

You had to get closer, maybe then you could get a better look. Plus. . . Whoever they were might need help, and who were you if not someone always there to lend a helping hand.

In the end you did end up getting a better look because the second you got close you watched as the new spider person was slammed into the side of the building, one of the mechanic arms of the enemy latched tightly around them.

Your body was moving before your brain was and a second later you where sailing through the air like a dart, your foot slamming into the jaw of the criminal.

The movement was enough to shake him and with that the cows released the person in its grasp. A mask similar to your own stared back at you, it’s eyes wide as the person beneath look at you.

“What? The least I could get is a thank you.” You speak plainly, ducking a swing from the man behind you.

“Oh uh yeah, thanks.”

Trying to multitask between taking down the guy behind you and conversing with the vigilante in front of you, you paused before bringing your foot in a swift sailing arc towards your assailant, once again knocking them down a few pegs.

“You wanna tell me whit his guy is?”

“You don’t have a Doc Ock here?”

You duck another mechanic arm, moving quickly to web it firmly to the side of the building you were currently grappling on. “What do you mean here?”

“You know, this reality?”

You paused in your movements, titling your head. “What did you smoke?”

Though you couldn’t see it, you could sense the way they rolled their eyes under their mask. “Ok enough of this, just help me take down this guy and I’ll explain everything.”

There was silence for a moment as you thought it over before quickly nodding, and with that the two of you sprung into action.

In less than two minutes the attacker was down, bound firmly in webbing on the sidewalk of the bank.

“I’ve never seen this guy before. And you sounded surprised when I said that.” You folded your arms, looking down at the unconscious villian in front of you.

“I mean, most spidermen have some variant of him in their reality.” The guy next to you shrugged.

“Their reality?” Turning your head you looked at the person next to you and the blue and red spandex suit that cling to their body.

“Yeah, you know- the multiverse?”

“Bullshit. That ain’t real.”

“Oh trust me, it is.”

You raised an eyebrow underneath your mask. “Why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Does it sound like I’m kidding?”

The so called spider-man inc don’t if you sighed, hand going to his hips. “My names Peter B. Parker. I’m from a different reality. Earth 616-B to be exact.”

Despite how ridiculous he sounded your senses were telling you everything he said was true. “How did you get here?”

“A gizmo.”

“Ok now I have to call bullshit. You have something called a fucking gizmo that got you here? That sounds like something a kid would call their toy.”

At that Peter laughs. “Oh ho! That’s good, wait till I tell Miguel that someone called his devices a child’s toy. Oh I’m gonna have to record that—“

“Miguel?”

“He’s the boss man, the one who sent me here to grab that guy.” Peter points down at the unconscious Doc Ock on the ground.

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Well you give me a reason to ask a lot of questions.”

There’s a pause and you can only assume that beneath his mask he mouth his hanging slightly open as he thinks. “I. . . Ok fair enough. I’ll give you that. Long story short, this guy isn’t from your reality which means that if I don’t get him back to his your whole world could start to disintegrate. We call guys like this anomalies.”

It’s your turn to be quiet, your eyes wide as you listen to him. “oH. Ok then. Yeah please get this guy out of here then.” Nodding quickly, you stepped back. “I’d rather not have my world disintegrate.”

“I’m completely agree.” Peter nodded, moving to punch a code into the device on his wrist. . . Or gizmo as he called it. You nearly jumped out of your suit a moment later when a multi colored portal whizzed open behind him, brining with it a dull sort of hum that made your spider senses stand on end. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need to get this guy back to HQ for processing before sending him home.”

You could only nod silently as your eyes stayed glued to the portal, mouth hanging slightly ajar in pure wonder. “Uh yeah- yeah.”

With a swift throw, Peter launched the unconscious Doc Ock through the portal. “It was nice meeting you fellow spider. . . ling?” He nodded as he stepped into the portal himself. “Maybe I’ll see you around again at some point.”

And with that he was gone.

And you should have left it at that. You should have just watched the portal close, turn on your heel and headed home. . . Or maybe a bar. Either or sounded like a good idea.

But you did neither.

Because hair as you were readying yourself to leave the tiny red string around your finger glitched again, the fading red line pointing in the direction of the closing portal.

You were moving before your brain was, the portal closing shut behind you, drowning you in darkness.

[wheels-of-despair]

A Quiet Place: Day One's bonus content "varies by retailer", so here's what I can confirm without buying anything:

Apple has a few featurettes, which you can watch for free.

Update: Bonus content becomes available after purchase.

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Amazon/Prime Video also shows a few free featurettes.

Update: It's just these three.

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Fandango at Home / Vudu has bonus features with purchase.

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YouTube and Google Movies do not mention any bonus content at all. Update: Because there isn't any.

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Microsoft has bonus content with purchase.

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xfinity won't tell you anything unless you're signed in, which I am not.

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50 minutes of Bonus Content will be on the physical releases (4K and Blu-Ray; not DVD) coming on October 8.

Day Zero: Beginnings and Endings—Hear from John Krasinski, cast, and crew as director Michael Sarnoski takes the reins for this character-driven prequel. (7 minutes)

In the City: Chaos in Chinatown—See how the production crew recreated Manhattan from scratch in order to destroy it. Plus, hear from some new and familiar faces from the franchise. (7 minutes)

The Exodus: Against the Tide—Go behind-the-scenes of the exodus sequence that employed over a hundred extras and a clever mix of practical and visual effects. (6 minutes)

The Long Walk: Monsters in Midtown—Meet Frodo the cat and the animal trainers behind the fantastic feline performance. Plus, filmmakers detail Sam, Eric, and Frodo's long walk through the city. (7 minutes)

Pizza at the End of the World—Hear from cast and crew about why a quest for pizza when the world is under attack poignantly speaks to our humanity. (7 minutes)

Deleted and Extended Scenes -The Back of the Bus—Sam returns to the bus disappointed after the show, but notices something peculiar happening in the back. (extended, 2 minutes) -Take Off Your Shoes—Sam notices a stranger following her and tells him to remove his shoes in order to make less noise. (extended, 1 minute) -Finding the Farm—Eric is returning with Sam's meds, but takes a detour to the creature feeding grounds to find Frodo. (extended, 2 minutes) -New Shoes—Sam and Eric try on new shoes. (deleted, 1 minute) -Poetry at Patsy's—Sam and Eric have a heart-to-heart out in front of Patsy's Pizzeria. (deleted, 8 minutes)

If you purchase any of the digital versions and bonus content becomes available to you, please share with the class!