#he’s digging his own grave but is unaware of it

[farosdaughter]

If Coryo was solely looking out for himself throughout TBOSAS and never had genuine feelings for Lucy Gray, then explain this passage

He could’ve landed in one of the districts closer to the Capitol, but instead chose to exile himself to District 12 hoping to be reunited with Lucy Gray. The mere possibility of their reunion is the only thing that keeps him going. And that’s love.😌

[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.

[neallo]

AU where mello comes back from the dead and everything is completely 100% the same with him EXCEPT that every time he lies, a little blurb appears over his head with a fact check so like. he makes some outlandish, exaggerated declaration of how much he HATES near and NEVER wants to see him again, and whoever he's talking to can see the thing above his head that says MOSTLY FALSE: while he still harbors some lingering resentment for near, his feelings can no longer be classified as hatred, if they ever could. additionally, he misses near like a limb and wants him carnally. and this literally wouldn't be a problem if mello would just stop bringing near up unprompted but he's physically incapable of that so he goes around telling on himself repeatedly until near somehow catches wind of it and arranges to meet him so he can be like :) mello do you miss me. and mello scoffs Of Course I Don't Miss You, You're Gross And Annoying. and then the fact check over his head goes FALSE: he loves you and wants to fuck you so bad it makes him look stupid. the only thing i can't decide is if it's funnier if mello knows about the fact checks and just can't stop digging his own grave unprompted or if he's completely oblivious that he's going around unaware that he's baring his soul to anyone who will listen.

[lunarw0rks]

i have another au i wanna introduce: mayors son!graves and ex pornstar!reader…hear me out. they gossip abt u two in the magazines :0

genuis ask; you have big brain...

SCANDAL | PHILLIP GRAVES

mayors!son!graves who isn't ignorant to the purity culture in the south, especially growing up in a conservative town. hell, he's about as stereotypical as you can get — and the media vultures still dig up dirt on him.

he doesn't care for his father much either. but reputation matters, whether people want to believe it or not. graves doesn't dare slander his own blood publicly; he'd end up running against him, or forced into exile by public opinion.

he didn't have interest in either scenario.

he only had interest in you.

the less attention and spotlight, the better. no easy task when you come from an influential family — and even more difficult when you made a living in adult films years ago.

mayors!son!graves who met you at a restaurant, when you took your break out back. an apron draped around your shoulders, and the pitiful, outdated diner uniform you hated. why the hell the mayors son was in this part of town, or speaking to you, it was a mystery.

at first, you thought he was like the rest of the politicians and their kin. their mistresses and dirty fantasies that disregard how they preach "family values" the next day.

but he wasn't.

graves didn't know you for your body, your intimate moments, not even word of mouth; just you, for you, in that moment.

mayors!son!graves who made his best effort to keep the media off his back, thus preventing any spotlight cast on your "sins".

he wound up unsuccessful, when photos of you two leaked.

first, a clear shot of you and him in his truck, on your fourth date. just when things between you had begun turning serious and meaningful, and in return — heating up.

the second photo, a week after you revealed your past to him, unaware of the digging the journalists were doing. a blurry shot of you two through the curtains, his business shirt unbuttoned, and you straddling him.

how they discovered your identity through a shaky cam, you didn't care to know. but your skeletons were out in the open.

nothing changed after you told him about your porn career.

nothing changed after the media spread like wildfire. surely, he was losing his mind, right?

his daddy would have hell to pay for this. graves was shocked he didn't have a heart attack and keel over once the articles were forwarded to his assistants.

he could already smell the mobs; feel the blinding flash of their cameras.

stepping out to collect the newspaper the next day was definitely going to be a treat.

˖⁺‧₊˚ divider cred. - cafekitsune ⋆⑅˚₊

[theaethernetconnection]

Just had a random thought about how differently Crowley and Aziraphale interact with humans and their culture throughout history. More or less, Crowley interacts with the culture and Aziraphale interacts with the people. There's so much nuance of course because I'm thinking about how aziraphales appreciation of culture comes purely through food, and Crowley tends to notice people's social cues and little details about people. But thinking about in Rome, or Victorian times or the wives in the 1960s. Crowley is always experimenting with her gender expression and the culture of the place where he resides. I think that the way Crowley works is he really lives in the places he lives in such as going to bars, talking to people on the street, the lowlife, the nightlife, actually paying rent for some goddamn reason. But aziraphale stays on his own for the most part, he absorbs the people he interacts with but definitely stays outside of fashion trends, and altogether doesn't really immerse himself in any culture. It's why he's unaware of the life the poor live in the grave digging minisode, and also the reason he has so many signed books from magicians and prophesy tellers. He engages with the people for long periods of time. Is he super good at listening to human emotions? Not exactly... But is he great at cataloguing and absorbing the essence of the people he meets? Yeah.

[nana-mania]

“SPOILED” he loves being spoiled by his rich girlfriend

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ oneshot

࿐*ೃ feat : izana kurokawa

࿐*ೃ fandom : tokyo revengers

࿐*ೃ extra : fem! reader, fluff

࿐*ೃ tw : cursing

╰┈➤: ̗̀➛ "IS IT JUST me or has Izana been acting odd lately?"

Kakucho spoke up, breaking the silence between him and the Brutal Generation, as well as the executives of Tenjiku. He was unable to contain his curiosity much longer. He pondered in his mind all the time; whether the others noticed this subtle change in Izana.

"Izana has always been unhinged, Kakucho. Since when he's not acting odd?" Ran casually remarked, finding his question strange. "You know him personally much more than we do. Surely, we can't give you any answers even if you demand one from us." Rindou added.

"What's so odd about Izana anyway?" Shion asked, his brain still trying its hardest to discern the meaning behind Kakucho's inquiry. "If you are talking about how he has been hanging out a lot on his own, I personally don't think it's strange." Kanji stated whilst he munched on a mochi.

"You know him. He doesn't like it when we question his actions." Muto advised, patting the younger male's broad back to reassure him. "I know, but...ahh, there is just something off about him. I can't get it out of my mind unless I figure it out." Kakucho argued, persistently staying true to himself.

"My gut feeling is too strong for me to ignore it... Alright, that's it. I'm going out to check on Izana. He went out to the city again today. You guys wanna tag along?" Kakucho offered invitation to the rest of the executives. Shion, Kanji and Muto were unsure. They didn't want to dig their own grave.

But the two Haitanis thought otherwise. They were thrilled by the idea of spying on Izana during his casual stroll in the city. They might discover something unbelievable.

"We are coming along~" Ran agreed to Kakucho's invitation, his hand resting on top of Rindou's head. Rindou wore a wide grin on his face, excited by the adventure they were about to experience. It could be a death wish but who cares! Life wasn't fun without taking risk.

Seeing two of them agreeing to this maniacal, suicide-borderline plan, Kanji, Shion and Muto sighed defeatedly and eventually agreed to Kakucho as well. Delighted by their cooperation, he smiled at the older males happily.

"Alright, let's go now!"

Meanwhile, in the city, Izana was strolling in a clothing store with you, browsing the various clothes and shoes sold in the store in complete silence. There was no way he would want to buy them as most the stuffs he wanted was overpriced.

His amethyst-hued eyes suddenly landed on a pair of shoes. He stared long at the said shoes, as if he was attracted to them. He was unaware of how long he was fixing his gaze at the footwear. Noticing his behavior, you smiled at him and picked up the shoes he secretly wished to have.

Shocked by your action, Izana looked at you in disbelief. "No, not again." He opposed your idea. He knew you too well; you were planning to buy the shoes for him. But you shook your head and brought the shoes along as you and your boyfriend made your way to the store clerk.

"Yes, again. I told you, just buy anything you want. I can pay for the goods."

"You're always spoiling me."

"And I love doing that. Especially spoiling you."

Izan smiled softly at you, his one and only girlfriend. To be honest, he didn't know you were from a wealthy family until he went on a first date with you. It was astonishing to figure out this interesting fact about you.

Izana reached out his hand and held your hand warmly. "That's why I love you so much, mahal." He whispered seductively into your ear, tightening his hold on your hand. Your cheeks heated up upon hearing his attractive voice. God, you always had a thing for voice. Hearing a sexy voice like his made you weak in the knees. "I love you too, sweetie."

You paid for the shoes much to Izana's happiness. He never, never even once asked you to spoil him with your wealth. You willingly did it for him and he appreciated it so much. Even though he couldn't buy any expensive gifts like you did, you adored every single thing he did or give to you as presents.

You weren't a picky and judgmental girl.

"So, where should we go now?"

"Mahal, I'm hungry. Can we stop by KFC?"

"Sure! And you better keep your wallet in your pocket. Today's date is on me."

"But..."

"No buts. I invited you to the date so I have the rights to spoil you."

Izana chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You were persistently stubborn when it came to this topic. It was no surprise to know you hated being the spoiled one during date. Only on rare occasion, you would let him pay during the date.

"If you say so, mahal." Izana leaned in to kiss your forehead. Your face went ablaze, delighted by his soft kiss. That was right, this was what you wanted. Receiving rewards in the form of physical touched everytime you spoiled him. Izana was the best when it came to showing love through physical touch.

Hooking your arm with his, you and Izana walked out of the clothing store as he flirted with you, effortlessly causing warmth to spread across your cheeks.

"After this...wanna come over to my place to chill, mahal?" Izana whispered flirtatiously into your ear. You could practically hear the smirk in his teasing voice as his arm found its way to snake around your waist. "I love to reward you for all the treats and spoiling...you deserve so much from me."

"Eager much, aren't you? I'm always up for it. I love to be spoiled by you later."

"Thought you hated being coddled by me, mahal."

"Your "spoiling" is different and that's why I love it."

The warmth in your cheeks kept rising up. You could never stop flirting with Izana when he started making his move. He would continue whispering sweet nothings until you overheated.

Unbeknownst to the couple, a group of curious delinquents were spying on them with the youngest having his jaw dropped to the ground in disbelief.

"I-Izana...since when did he— has a partner?" Kakucho gasped, his mouth agape wide open. Shion, Muto, Kanji, Ran and Rindou were left speechless as well. Izana, never once, showed the slightest bit interest in relationship considering that man hated "troublesome burden". Hence, seeing him all sweet with a girl was a miracle. This fact might take a while to be embedded into their brain.

"Let's go follow them. I need to confirm again—"

Much to Kakucho's misfortune, Rindou unintentionally slipped and brutally pushed Kakucho out of their hiding spot. Due to panic, all of them left the alleyway to help Kakucho and Rindou to get back on their feet.

Of course, this led to their downfall.

Thanked to the chaos, Izana and you were drawn to take a look. The Tenjiku leader was displeased to find his executives all hoarded together. He figured out right away that they were spying on him.

"You know them?" You asked, curious of his sudden change of facial expression. You were still linking your arm with his. Izana's face scrunched with irritation, aggravated by their rude interruption. You knew Izana was involved in gang activities but you had never found out that he was the leader of his own gang.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?!" Izana yelled at his exeuctives. His roaring voice sent shivers down to their spine. He untangled his arm from your hold, dangerously walking toward the other elite delinquents of his gang. Shion was on the verge of tears, fearing for his life and safety.

"S-Shit, run! RUN! FUCKING RUN!!" Shion, being the most coward among all of them, made a run from Izana's wrath. Izana ignored the others as they were already frozen on their spots so he began chasing after Shion, catching up with his speed easily.

"Wait, you fucker! I'm gonna fucking kill you for interrupting my date!!"

The small chaos somehow turned into a big calamity as Shion, Kakucho, Ran, Rindou, Muto and Kanji now needed to face Izana's rage.

While you just stood there all confused but enjoyed the evening drama nonetheless.

࿐*ೃ thanks for reading this short scenario! likes, interaction and reblogs are deeply appreciated ♡

[itisokaytobenotokay520]

Thinking about what if the first Azirocrow meet was the same time God starts punishing rebellious angels?

I was wondering, why do Crowley absolutely unaware about consequences for questioning God, while Aziraphale is obviously much terrified.

Crowley was so excited about creation of Nebula. All in, he didn't pay attention to any news or any events happening around Heaven.

What if Aziraphale had just witnessed a banishment of an angel. What if it was someone Crowley used to hangout with and Aziraphale knows it? What had he felt when the angel, he possibly secretly admired, was digging his own grave right in front of Aziraphale?

And what if it was last time Crowley saw the stars? What if he was about to comeback to Heaven he couldn't recognise anymore? His friends was banished, God doesn't answer anymore and all his work was pointless, because the universe is about to be shut down again.

What if their first meet was the day he lost everything?

[gravitywonagain]

Can't Cheat Death While You're Digging Your Own Grave; Part 3

Continued from [1][2]

What if Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian were closer? Sworn brothers, even? What if NHS visited WWX in Yiling?

Prompt from the wonderful @shiranai-atsune

[T (for now?), implied Wangxian, 2k, 3/?]

~

Wei Wuxian:

“How much do you know about the Saber Path, Wei-xiong?”

There’s a change in his friend as he asks the question. Nie Huaisang prefers to be seen as someone who is flighty and unaware. He never makes definitive statements, nothing anyone could pin to him as his own opinion; he doesn’t like to appear to know things. 

But now, Wei Wuxian is cut by the sharpness in his friend’s eyes. 

“Uh… I know it’s strong,” he says. “Very yang focused, active.”

“Did you know it kills its practitioners?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Early deaths of Nie sect leaders do seem to be a pattern.” 

“I thought,” says Wen Qing, next to him, “that was mostly about… ah, temperament.” 

It’s a delicate way to put it. But Wei Wuxian is pretty sure this isn’t the time for delicate. 

“She means that they always seem to go out in a blaze of idiotic glory on some epic nighthunt.” 

Nie Huaisang does not appear offended on his ancestors’ behalf. He remains sharp, rigid. The blade of a saber he always keeps sheathed. Voice hard as steel. 

He says, “My father died at home when my brother cut him down to protect my mother and me from his final rage. After his saber broke, he deteriorated. It was,” he pauses, clears his throat. It’s a raw kind of sound, wet and red, but he remains calm and cold. “It was difficult to watch. I still don’t understand what happened to him. But our doctors called it a qi deviation.”

“I see.” 

“Nie-er-gongzi, may I ask,” Wen Qing seems to be struggling to phrase her question but finally settles on, “may I see your saber?” 

When Nie Huaisang smiles at her, it’s discordantly soft. Gently amused. “Oh, I doubt my saber will tell you very much, Wen-daifu. I do not cultivate with it.” 

“How much do you know about the Saber Path, Nie-xiong?” Wei Wuxian asks. 

“Not a lot, to be honest.” 

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open then, retreating back behind a vapid smile as if his candor has reached some limit and he must rest a moment. It’s an oddly placating kind of gesture. Like Wei Wuxian is someone who needs to be coddled or pacified. It irks. Sits wrong, stringing a tension between his shoulders where there wasn’t any before. 

“I believe you,” he says. “But you still haven’t answered my previous question. What is the cost, Huaisang?” 

The fan flickers back and forth as Nie Huaisang seems to consider how exactly to arrange his words. 

Usually he doesn’t take this long. Usually he walks people through a conversation he’s rehearsed in his mind, choreographed and memorized. At least, when he wants something. And maybe the pause itself is strategic, but Wei Wuxian knows his friend well. It seems… careful. Which only twists the band between Wei Wuxian’s shoulders tighter. 

Finally, Nie Huaisang snaps his fan closed. He deliberately meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes and says, “You’ll have to study it.” 

It would be misleading to say that this is what Wei Wuxian had been afraid of. The idea would have had to occur to him first, for him to fear it. But it is tangential to his fear. Connected. 

“Ah…” Wei Wuxian rubs his palms against the rough fabric of his robe. He glances over to Wen Qing, who meets his gaze with the anxiety in her own. “Nie-xiong…” 

“You don’t have to… cultivate it,” Nie Huaisang says, far too knowingly. Wei Wuxian’s eyes jump to his friend’s face, but Nie Huaisang presses on, “Just. Just study it. Fix it.” 

They’re going to have to address that at some point. Probably. Because just how the fuck-- No. Not now.

“Fix it?” Wei Wuxian asks with no small amount of incredulity. No small amount of curiosity either. “I can’t-- I know I helped you pass your exams during the lectures but--” His brain is already beginning to circle around what he knows of the Saber Path. Yang-focused, prone to qi deviation -- or at least something like it. 

Nie Huaisang must see it in his face, because he smiles, a little fiercer this time, and says, “You can. You think about cultivation in ways that other people can’t even imagine. Look at what you built during the war!” 

“You’ll recall,” Wei Wuxian says, raising a pointed eyebrow, “that not many people are very pleased with what I built during the war.” 

Wen Qing, with a bit more wariness adds, “And some are extremely greedy for it.” 

“Also true.” 

“Wei-xiong,” Nie Huaisang huffs. “False modesty will get us nowhere.” 

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Yes. I’m smart. But this…” He flaps his hands uselessly. 

“This is new. A challenge,” Nie Huaisang grins, and Wei Wuxian hates that it works on him. “And you’ll be tackling it inside a library. With insulation. And on a full stomach.” 

The Wens, aside from Wen Qing, are all outside the cave somewhere. Tilling corrupted soil, washing clothes with barely cleansed water, gathering any scraps of cloth they can find to sew into blankets and coats as the winter looms near. 

Wei Wuxian looks toward the strained sunlight that brightens the mouth of the cave. He bites a strip of cracked skin from his lip. His leg bounces under the table. 

When he turns back, Nie Huiasang is watching him closely. He’s letting Wei Wuxian see how closely he’s watching, which counts for something here. Between them. He needs this. He’s almost begging them for it. And when has Wei Wuxian ever been able to turn down someone in need of his help? 

“Chifeng-zun has agreed to their safety?” he asks. An insane question in any other circumstance. 

“He has.” A similarly insane answer. 

That Nie Mingjue would willingly shelter Wens is almost as unbelievable as the Wens all surviving this winter in the Burial Mounds. But that’s the thing, isn’t it. Their options are severely limited. And if Wei Wuxian wants to keep them safe, he must consider any that are open to him. 

He nods and asks, “What else?” 

The vapid smile returns. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang shakes his fan at him. “You sound eerily like Da-ge when you do that, did you know?”

He’s avoiding the question. “It’s bad, then.” 

“It’s…” he trails off for a moment, but has the decency to look guilty when he nods and says, “permanent.” 

Wei Wuxian huffs, exasperated. He’s so fucking tired of games. 

Nie Huaisang sets his fan down on the table. Presses his fingers against the surface until his knuckles bulge with it. Then he says, “You’ll have to give up the Yin Tiger Seal.” 

“To whom?” Wen Qing asks, the question quick to her tongue, like she already knew this would be the request. 

She probably did. Wei Wuxian probably should have known, too. But he’d thought, of all people… 

“No,” he says.  

“Wei-xiong--” 

“No, I’ll do it,” he amends. “But I won’t give it to anyone.” 

“Wei Wuxian.” Wen Qing’s voice is sharp with warning. Pointed and precise like her needles. Because she knows what he’s thinking now, too. 

“Qing-jie. It’s the only way we do this.” 

“You don’t know it won’t kill you.” 

It won’t matter if it does, he doesn’t say. Instead, maybe more bullheaded than necessary, he bites out, “Luckily, I’ll have a library at my disposal.” 

Wen Qing’s jaw tightens like she heard him anyway. 

“Ah, Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang flutters his fan, blocking the lower half of his face, exactly like he used to during their tutoring session when Wei Wuxian would go off on some borderline esoteric tangent about cultivation theory. 

It’s so familiar that Wei Wuxian almost laughs aloud with the nostalgia in his chest. 

“When?” he asks. 

“When what?” Nie Huaisang returns. 

“When will I need to give it up?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows dip together. “I don’t--”

“If your brother will allow me to hold onto it --” unlikely, but, “fuck, if he’ll lock it away for me -- Tight, safe even from himself. He's more suspicious of Jins than any of the other clan leaders,” he trails off, considering. But Nie Huaisang taps his fan and Wei Wuxian finishes, “I can figure out how to destroy it. Safely.” 

That seems to take Nie Huaisang by actual surprise. His fan pauses, mid sway, then shivers back into motion, faster and far less even. “Destroy it?” 

“Completely,” Wei Wuxian says with a confidence he forces into his throat. 

He needs to be confident in this. He needs to be sure he can destroy it, otherwise… Otherwise none of this will matter anyway. 

Nie Huaisang hums, considering. He folds the fan and taps it against his lips. “We can probably make that work.” 

Something like relief breaks in Wei Wuxian’s chest. A breath he hadn’t been holding. He wants to reach for Wen Qing’s hand, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture in front of their guest. 

He takes a deep breath. Waits for Wen Qing’s tiny nod. And says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” asks Nie Huaisang, hope shining too bright to be false in his eyes. 

“If you can guarantee the safety of the Wens,” says Wei Wuxian, “we’ll go.” 

Wen Qing inhales, pauses, inhales again, and says, “Nie-er-gongzi…”

“Yes, Wen-daifu?”

She still seems to be gathering her words, but Nie Huaisang waits patiently. His fan is still, his smile gentle again. 

She tilts her head, eyes calculating, and says, “There will be political backlash for this.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose there is one last thing I’ll require of you, Wei-xiong.”

Wei Wuxian waits, annoyed, but also dazed. He’s not entirely sure that any of this is really happening. It’s too good. Even if there is yet another condition. 

Nie Huaisang smiles -- smiles, not a grin full of mischief or a calculating quirk of the lips -- and says to Wei Wuxian, “Become my sworn brother.”

Wei Wuxian’s face reacts before he can tell it not to. His jaw drops open, his brow furrows, his eyes search his friend for the joke, for the punchline, for any hint that he’s not serious about this. When he doesn’t find one, he yells, “Huaisang!” 

“What?” asks Nie Huaisang, fan flapping back and forth over an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t realize it was so detestable a concept.”

“You cannot swear yourself to Yiling Laozu.”

“We’re not getting married.” 

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “We kind of would be, and you know that.”

“So what? You’re a war hero. And an incredibly powerful cultivator.” 

A glance to Wen Qing offers no help. Her lips are softly curled and her eyes are unfocused, like she’s imagining Jin Guangshan’s face when Wei Wuxian is pulled out of his reach for good. Or maybe just the spectacle of Yiling Laozu swearing himself to Nie Huiasang, the most unassuming figure of the highly ranked gentry. 

“I don’t have a core,” Wei Wuxian blurts out, “which you seem to have figured out somehow.” 

Nie Huaisang looks very smug and says, “Nothing in the ceremony requires a golden core.” 

“I’m a servant’s son.”

“Meng Yao is a prostitute’s son. Wei-xiong, I really don’t understand what the problem is here?”

“He has self-esteem issues,” says Wen Qing. Which is just-- 

“I--? What? I’m incredibly full of myself, ask anyone.” 

Wen Qing catches his eyes and glares. But he isn’t lying. 

It’s not self-esteem he has issues with. It’s other people risking themselves for him. Reputation means everything in this world, all three of them know that. And Nie Huaisang’s reputation is far from spotless. He does not need it raked over the coals by being associated with Wei Wuxian. 

But then. It’s not for him. Or not just for him. It’s for Nie Mingjue. It’s for the Wens. 

It-- Damnit, it could work, too. 

This time when he looks at her, Wen Qing looks back. It’s in her eyes: his acquiescence. He can see it there, taunting him. She knows him too well. She knows him better than anyone, it seems, even himself. 

“In front of everybody?” he asks, a whine more than anything. 

Nie Huaisang’s smile gets wider. Victorious. “That is generally how it’s done, yes. I’m planning it for your nephew’s 100 days ceremony.”

“That’s quick,” says Wen Qing. 

“It’s necessary.”

“I’m impressed.”

Nie Huaisang winks, “Don’t tell anyone.” 

“And Nie-zongzhu is just-- fine with that?” Wei Wuxian asks, some last token protest before he has nothing left. 

“He understands the complexity of the situation. And the… Jin Guangshan of the situation.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” 

Wei Wuxian blows out all the air in his lungs. It’s not a lot, but it gives him several seconds to collect himself. Then, finally, he says, “Alright, let’s do it.” 

He’s not sure who looks more satisfied, Nie Huaisang or Wen Qing. He ignores the strange ease that settles into his own gut at the idea of it. At a path forward that isn’t a single-log bridge in the night. It’s… nice, he thinks. To have somebody else to help him across the river, to help him help the rest of them cross safely to the other side. 

It’s a new feeling. A new lightness. 

He’s sad, suddenly, that it didn’t come from someone else. Someone who has been his candle in the dark since they were teenagers. 

And then he is abruptly guilty for that feeling, and he shakes it off, letting his mouth run instead. 

“How does this sworn brotherhood thing work, anyway? Am I siblings with my sworn sibling’s siblings? What about their sworn siblings and those sworn siblings’... siblings?”

He ran out of steam at the end a little bit, and “siblings” now more resembles a jumble of sounds than it does a real word. But then Nie Huaisang sighs and says, “You will still be allowed to marry Wangji-xiong,” and Wei Wuxian feels all of the blood in his body rush into his cheeks. 

“Good,” he nods, with every ounce of dignity he has left. It’s not a lot. “That’s all I need to know.”

[your-local-baguette]

Dad!ego with teen!reader

Warnings: neglecting? Not proof read, gn! reader and other triggering subjects.

!read at your own risk!

Papers were ripped harshly, the football obsessed man looked dead in the eyes of his wife. She looked terrified, a young child clenched her clothes, cries echoed in the room. The skinny man turned his back to his wife and child, choosing his dream over his family. The mother trembling legs barely had the strength to hold her up, the child's scream and cries quieted down. Silence ruled the room, the ripped papers rested on the ground, soaked in the woman heavy tears. She hugged her child tightly, apologizing endlessly. She had to raise this baby alone, she weakly walked out of the room. Taking step after step until she reached her car, she secured the child on the baby seat...

The ride was silent, apart from the young kid small snores, it hugged itself.

When the mother got out of the car, she looked at her progeniture, caressing it's face gently." Mama will do her best.." she quietly whispered, her saying fell to no one's ears. The moon ruling upon the sky, no one to be seen on the streets. One last tear rolled out the mother's swollen eye, her nails digging her palms. Heartbreak and regret transformed into hatred and disgust. She's clenched her eyes closed, exhaling deeply, her anger flying away with the night breeze.

" i am willing to go through this if it's for you, sweet child of mine"

The woman told herself, courage building up within her. Even though she wanted to burst into tears and fall to the ground, she kept her head up.

...

A flower was gently dropped on top of a grave, a young teen, standing tall in front of their mother grave. They had to go living with their father, one they had not a single souvenir from, not even a blurry memory. What was this encounter be like ? They were unaware and just as nervous as the father.

Ego was very nervous, he long regretted hia decision, it was one he couldn't go back on. He tapped his foot nervously, his breathing wasn't steady at all, his fingers were interwined together and he felt himself zone out. All kind of thoughts overwhelming him, even the blue lock players were wondering what was wrong with him.

The teen was walking through the halls of the blue lock building, they came across quite a handful of football players. They glared at anyone daring to take a step too close.

The door to ego office opened, six pair of eyes turned to the person. Ego eyes widened, there you were, the child he abandoned fifteen years ago. " Oh? Were you nervous ? Dad.." the teen said with a mocking smirk plastered on their face. The football obsessed man clenched his jaw" to think i'd ever get to see my kid. I can't say i expected this..." His own smirk took place on his crazy looking face.

"boo!" You said, suddenly, your head appearing over his shoulder, sending him a playful wink. He frowned slightly" you're not going to be an easy task, are you?"

" nope!" You said, enhancing the 'p'

....

[sometimes-men-need-help-too]

The terrifying inside story of how an innocent dad was tortured and killed by a group of chainsaw-wielding 'paedophile hunters' - after his wife falsely accused him of molesting her daughters

*I usually don’t like using daily mail articles but this one includes other information that other articles do not 

A ruthless gang of drug-fuelled vigilantes menaced an innocent father with a chainsaw while trying to force a confession out of him for crimes he did not commit, in a brutal torture and murder that shocked Australia.

Father-of-eight Bradley 'BJ' Lyons was tortured and executed after being betrayed by his meth-addled wife Jana Hooper, who falsely accused him of sexually assaulting her daughters.

Video obtained by Daily Mail Australia shows Hooper leading her husband to his death after 'giving the nod' for thugs to enter their house in Lakes Entrance, in Victoria's east, and attack him.

CCTV captured from a neighbour's property showed Mr Lyons follow his wife into their home blissfully unaware of the horrors about to befall him.

He would not be seen alive again after being stuffed into the boot of his soon-to-be killer's car and driven away.

'The cat's in the bag,' Albert Thorn told the girlfriend of his co-accused Jordan Bottom, who along with Rikki Smith was found not guilty last week of Mr Lyons' murder.

Jessica MacFarlane, the then-girlfriend of Bottom, had been living in a caravan with him on Thorn's Nyerimilang farm when he arrived with Mr Lyons still trapped in the boot of his car.

Ms McFarlane told the Supreme Court of Victoria jury Thorn had claimed to have had Mr Lyons trapped in the car's boot for up to 21 hours under the baking summer sun.

Thorn, 57, was found guilty this month of the torture, imprisonment and murder of Mr Lyons.

'I walked over to the car that was parked under the tree, and tapped on the boot, and ah, I heard someone scream in the back of the car,' Ms McFarlane told the jury.

Asked what she heard, Ms McFarlane provided a chilling response.

'Get me out of here, or kill me now,' she said.

Thorn had been the leader of a vigilante gang with a very specific hatred for paedophiles.

Bradley Lyons' wife Jana Hooper falsely told a meth-addicted group of so-called 'paedophile hunters' that her husband had impregnated her daughter

Albert Thorn shot the innocent dad in the knee and the back of the head after he was forced to dig his own grave

Thorn had tattooed the gang's name, Australian Freedom Fighters, across his entire back

Such was Thorn's hatred for paedophiles, he tattooed the gang's name, Australian Freedom Fighters, across his entire back and posted photographs to Facebook.

It had been spurious intel provided by Hooper, who shared three biological children with Lyons, that lit Thorn's fuse.

In December 2018, Hooper told Thorn she believed Mr Lyons was the father of her 16-year-old daughter's child and had also made her 14-year-old daughter pregnant.

The court heard it was a straight-out lie.

On Sunday, December 2, 2018, Thorn and his gang raided Mr Lyons' home in what was supposed to be an idiotic attempt to beat a confession out of him.

Aided by another mate, Alec Harvey, and Thorn's drug-addled lieutenant, Nicholas Stefani, the men ran into Mr Lyons' bedroom and each punched him in the face and head.

Jordan Bottom lived in a caravan (pictured) on Thorn's property

Mr Lyons was strapped to a massage table in a shed at the top of this image where he was tortured

Harvey struck him with a metal pole and Smith lashed out while holding a cigarette lighter between his fingers as a knuckle duster.

Stefani forced the barrel of the shotgun into Mr Lyons' mouth and threatened to kill him if he didn’t confess to the sexual assault allegations.

CCTV shows Harvey and Smith run from the home, with Smith falling out of the getaway vehicle driven by yet another mate, Jayden Ball.

Mr Lyons was eventually dragged out of the boot of Thorn's car to an old shed on his property where things went from bad to worse for the terrified dad.

The court heard Thorn was giddy with excitement.

'I could see Bert getting really turned on and getting some sort of pleasure from this,' Ms MacFarlane told the jury.

What happened next is not exactly clear through the cloudy haze of meth-induced accounts that followed.

One account had the men sawing Mr Lyons' hand off.

The jury was told only 93 per cent of Mr Lyons' skeleton was recovered, with both feet, bones from his hands and a neck bone missing

CCTV shows Harvey and Smith run from the home, with Smith falling out of the getaway vehicle driven by yet another mate, Jayden Ball.

The bush grave where Brad Lyons was dumped after being shot in the head

A shotgun casing was found at the burial site of Brad Lyons

What is clear is that Mr Lyons was subjected to hideous torture that left him on the brink of life.

During Stefani's sentence in December over his role in the crime, the court heard a chainsaw was among the gang's torture tools.

'A chainsaw was held over his head to make him talk, he was punched, hot water from a kettle was poured on him, and Deep Heat was put on his body,' the court heard.

Stefani later told one of Hooper’s own daughters that at the farm, a chainsaw had been held over Mr Lyons and that they kept making him ‘piss himself’.

'You said that you and others had held a chainsaw over Lyons’ head trying to get him to confess, and that he had been made to piss himself,' Justice Andrew Tinney said.

'You said to one of the girls that it was your expectation that before the end of the night, Lyons would have the tattoos of the girls’ names cut off him and would "be a few knuckles down".

'You told one of the girls that it made you sick what you "had to do".'

When they were done, by all accounts without having extracted a confession, Mr Lyons was stuffed back into the boot of Thorn's car.

With towels taped around his head and his hands bound, Thorn, Smith and Bottom drove out into the wilderness along a dirt track near Double Bridges.

There Mr Lyons was made to wait while a shallow grave was dug.

When it was ready, Thorn blasted Mr Lyons in the leg with a .410 shotgun cartridge.

On his knees, another shot was put into the back of his skull.

Bottom would later lead police to the burial site, which had a large log dragged over it.

A single shotgun cartridge remained at the scene.

The court heard the men had celebrated their crime, holding a party at Thorn's property in which Mr Lyons' own wife and children attended.

'It looked like they were celebrating,' Ms MacFarlane told the jury.

'Jana was drinking, but I thought - it was a bottle of whiskey or something and they were (cheering), like - yep.'

Hooper was jailed last year for seven-and-a-half years and will be eligible for parole after serving just four-and-a-half.

Smith, 26, and Bottom, 25, were found not guilty of Mr Lyons' murder, but the pair were found guilty of his assault and false imprisonment

Thorn will face a pre-sentence hearing later this year.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/melbourne/article-12217413/Final-moments-Bradley-Lyons-life-tortured-Australian-Freedom-Fighters-chainsaw.html

[sweetchcolate]

reading chapter 72 of karina's last days got me feeling like this:

Even Ferriel was like 'damn the audacity of this bitch to pretend to be unaware when I'm the one who told him.' I'm glad he got a prime example of what Karina meant when she said her father only remembers or acknowledges what he wants, up to delusional levels of denial. I also love how, with every word that comes out of count Leopold's mouth, the man is literally digging his grave deeper and giving ammo to Karina's/Milian's arguments he was a neglecting pos of a father.

FUCK HIM UP!! Love how Milian keeps on striking the count's arguments that he was unaware of Karina's state.

For one: she was so fucking sick even back the second she stepped foot in the north that Milian, who knew her for less than 24 hours, could tell! How could her own father (surrounded by dozens and dozens of servants) not realize it? It just means count Leopold never properly looked at Karina, never showed an ounce of caring or worry for his daughter who was so sick a total stranger realized it straigt away.

For two: what would he trust the word of a man who couldn't be assed to attend his daughter's engagement ceremony for? It just goes to prove to Milian that not only did the count not know, but he didn't care or want to know (which is the fault Milian reproaches him for). Ignorance is not a sin, but in the count's case it was deliberate ignorance.

First of all what do you mean everything is a first for a parent when they have a child?? Not only do you have an older son who you propery praised and whose events you attended without fail (even if meant moving Karina's birthday celebrations, which... I'm surprised you even remembered her birthday date), meaning you had childrearing experience by the time Karina was born but also by the time Karina was grown up, you also managed to properly raise, take care of, and dote on her two younger siblings Abelia and Fendon. Miss me with 'I didn't know how to raise Karina' bullshit.

Also love Milian's clapback: even if it was count Leopold's first time as a parent, it was also Karina's first time as a child. And yet count and countess Leopold told her to now behave as a child, they essentially treated Karina like a mini adult and made her her younger siblings' caretaker, robbing her of the carefree and happy childhood she deserved, but also denying her the basic respect she should have had as their child.

'Let us stay by her side' oh yeah like y'all stayed by her side when she was still living with you? Like the way you attended her engagement ceremony or her birthday celebration... oh wait, you didn't, since you were all busy attending Enphric's graduation ceremony or going on picnics.

Good on Milian for leaving this up to Karina to decide: even though he would love nothing more than to throw her family out and barr them from ever seeing her again, I love how he is so respectful of her agency instead of speaking in her names, talking over her or making decisions for her (ahem like the count did, see all of chapter 71 ahem).

This chapter was so satisfying. The count had this coming for a looooong time and it's about damn time he stopped burying himself in denial and was faced with the sheer enormity of the pain he (and the Leopolds) inflicted on Karina. Time to die from regret and guilt.

YOU'RE NEXT FUCKER

[calamity-calliope]

So, writing a little bit about Enoch's mental state because my man is NOT okay.

(Meat & potatoes under cut bc this turned out way longer than I expected)

TL;DR: cringefail cowboy loses his family, joins the Civil War accidentally, gets shot, becomes a cowboy, quits his job, gets a brother, loses brother, goes vengeance mode, gets flashbanged and joins cult.

Let's start from the beginning. Set scene: The Moffetts in Kentucky. Young Enoch is watching his dad bury his mother. And, well, this is his first trauma. She'd been sick for a while. He knew that. Pa knew that. But the passing was still sudden and neither of them were prepared for it. Enoch didn't know what to do, because he'd never seen anyone die before. Pa wasn't much help. The old man became distant and moody, and soon after the death announced to Enoch that they would be traveling for a while.

They went East. This was at a point where the West was still "untamed" and only the braver folk were willing to take the dangerous trek across the continent. And Mr. Moffett was admittedly a coward. He took Enoch to the East to try and find work, offering his skill as a blacksmith where applicable. They lived in Virginia for a few months, before Pa, too, began to fall ill. Enoch led the way on the long road back to Kentucky, where a few months after they returned, he buried his father. To dig the grave with his own two hands was an almost unbearable burden. But he pushed through and got the job done.

Fast-forward a few years, Enoch got a blacksmith shop of his own. He lived far out in the woods, alone. Thus the news came to him a little late (by about three years, to be exact) that war was tearing apart the country. News of it all came to him little by little, but never the whole picture. Seeking answers, he saddled up his horse and went back East, returning to Virginia.

It is here that his wild however brief, military career began. He had passed through the Shenandoah Valley and crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains. Western boundary, as he was unaware, of the partisan chief John S. Mosby's domain. Enoch's first encounter with Mosby's Rangers occurred when a scout patrol stopped him along the road and demanded to know his business. Panicking more than a little bit, Enoch stated that he was there to join the partisans.

Skeptical, the Rangers took Enoch to their rendezvous, where he was introduced to Col. Mosby. Mosby as well was not too wholly convinced of Enoch's story, but still offered him the chance to prove himself. He was given two "navy-sixes" and told to act accordingly at the next raid the Rangers undertook. But that was another day. In the meantime, Enoch was invited to stay with the Hatcher brothers, who taught him how to use his guns.

Enoch was still very much scared at this point. He had seen death twice in his lifetime up to that point, but to now be a bringer of such a misfortune weighed heavily on him. He did, however, find comfort in the friendly nature of the Hatchers. The two brothers, Harry and Welt, became good friends of his.

During the next Ranger rendezvous, Mosby outlined an attack on a picket post. There were maybe forty-five men present for the job, Enoch being one of them. The leadup to the initial strike was, of course, to be in complete and utter silence. Silent woods were always a great fear of Enoch's. Because when the woods were quiet, something was wrong. It was no reassurance that he himself was the danger in this case. As the group got closer to its target, his anxiety began to spike again. Complete and utter quiet. Then, Mosby blew his whistle. Enoch reacted immediately to the sound and spurred his horse forward, with the rebels alongside him briefly stunned before following his lead.

On his almost-out-of-control horse, Enoch drew his pistols and aimed for the first humanoid figure that loomed out of the darkness. He pulled the trigger of one of his guns, and it did its deadly work. He could not help but gasp after the fact, after hearing the body hit the ground, because he had killed. It was something he had not done before, and, a year ago he had never planned on doing. Still, in the lead and surrounded, he continued to mete out death as a matter of survival.

In the end, Enoch was accepted as a Ranger and assigned to Company F. After the skirmish, Mosby presented him with a fine black thoroughbred named Apostle, as a reward for his good work during the skirmish. From there Enoch accepted his position. He fought whenever he was called upon, and even answered rendezvous when his company didn't. Death had lost the shock it had held when he first pulled the trigger. Killing seemed more of a duty. That didn't stop the idea of it from creeping into his mind at night and keeping him awake with the guilt of murder.

Then came the Second Battle of Dranesville. It was this battle that would set the rest of Enoch's life into motion. He was in the thick of the fight, as always. One of the forces that the Union fielded during that day was the feared and respected California Battalion (imagine a bunch of imported Californians, pissed off after being on a boat for several months). It was coming to the latter half of the battle, and the boys in blue were beginning to pull back. The Californians defined their escape route and went for it. As they left, one man raised his carbine and squeezed off a carefully-aimed shot, which hit Enoch in the knee. The two of them locked eyes for a moment before the Californian spurred off. Shortly after, Enoch fell from his horse from loss of blood.

After being tended to by Dr. Montiero, Enoch began he recovery period, which would last quite a while. Over that time he changed. The weight of the war, the pain of the injury, every repressed emotion, all hit him at once. He was a wreck, laying tired and weeping in the bed of a stranger, some days being to weak to even eat. His leg bothered him constantly. Still, he found the strength to haul himself to his feet once more and rejoin his comrades-in-arms. His heart was never quite as much in his fighting anymore, though. And so the war dragged on. Enoch was with the Rangers through their triumphs and their hardships. And then it was over.

While many of the Rangers went off to become clergymen and practitioners of law, Enoch wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He hadn't seen much of a future for himself beyond blacksmithing and soldiering. The postwar allure of the West caught him though, and he felt himself being dragged in that direction. He caught a train, leaving the world he had always known behind.

At first, looking for work was hard, because everyone was looking for work. Enoch especially had a rough time, as his wartime injury limited his physical capabilities somewhat. He was eventually picked up by an aging Mexican-American War veteran, a shady figure by all definitions, who had no problems whatsoever with hiring him. Enoch would be added to the payroll as a ranchhand.

Mr. Willis's ranch wasn't big, as the old man was just beginning to dabble into ranching. There were a couple of men already hired as hands on the range, and Enoch was introduced to them right off the bat. One of them was Hezekiah, a freedman who had been in the West since before the war, and considered one of the best ropers on the range. The other Enoch recognized immediately.

He was Clade Merrow, a veteran of the California Battalion. When Enoch saw him, he was at first angry. Merrow recognized him too, and they said nothing to each other. Enoch still carried his navy-sixes, and Merrow his carbine. There was a moment where they both reached for their weapons. Hezekiah managed to deescalate the situation by noting that they "wouldn't get paid if they kill each other." That was the end of that.

Work on the ranch was tough. The days were long and hot, the work tedious and often boring, and sometimes Mr. WIllis was frugal with the pay, but compensation came in other ways. As Enoch would remember, some of the best nights of his life were spent by firelight, looking up into the big Western sky, which was filled with stars. That, he assumed, was the universe's comforting word. It was easy to forget the past then. It was those nights that Enoch also talked with his coworkers.

He learned that everyone wanted to get off the range and be somewhere else. Hezekiah wanted to go somewhere where his talents would be recognized, and where the pay would be better. In particular, he expressed his desire to be a rodeo star. Merrow's wish was to become a bountry-hunter. It was a life, he stated, that was more exciting and fast-paced than being a cowboy. Enoch found himself agreeing with Merrow, and a friendship formed between the two. They never really brought up the war.

After a while, the three of them put their "retirement plan" into action. they resigned their service with Mr. Willis and went their separate ways. Enoch and Merrow went off together, and bid Hezekiah goodbye and wished up luck on his dream.

Things went well for Enoch and Merrow. They found good work with their frontier justice and brought in a fair number of minor criminals and outlaws. They lived a nomadic lifestyle, not having a single base of operations but moving wherever they were needed. They would have more heart-to-heart moments over these times. They got around to talking about the war. Neither of them looked upon those days fondly. Both had come from quiet gentle lifestyles and were not prepared for the toll of war, having suffered, physically and psychologically, and they agreed that they were quite done with war, forever. And one night, they made the agreement to become brothers, solidified by blood oath.

For Enoch, he had mixed emotions about it. Mainly, he has happy to have a brother at last. Someone he could confide in. Someone to keep him company so that he wouldn't have to be alone. But at the same time, he was scared. Not of having a brother, but losing that brother. He had noticed his pattern of losing loved ones, and the thought of losing Merrow was something that terrified him. ( >:) )

Then the big catch came. It was a bounty that would have set the two veterans up for life. So of course they took it. They one thing that they found interesting was that the last reported location of this particular criminal happened to be a place called the Neath. Neither Enoch nor Merrow really knew anything about the Neath. They'd heard that something weird had happened to London around 1862-ish but never really bothered to look into it. After a lot of asking around and following confusing and convoluted directions, they made their descent.

The Neath fascinated them. There was so much going on, so many interesting people to meet, so many wonders, that they were almost distracted from their goal. They tracked their target to Spite, where they employed their tried-and-true tactic of "divide and conquer." Enoch took his revolvers and went one way, and Merrow took his carbine and went another. It was going the way it always went. At first.

Enoch heard sounds that weren't normal. Sounds of a struggle. And then- the loud report of a carbine. He immediately stopped what he was doing and ran to the source of the noise. There, all he found was Clade Merrow, dead on the ground. And he stopped for a moment, forgetting how to think. Dropped to his knees and took his brother's head in his lap. He had died with his eyes closed, thankfully. All Enoch could do was sit there and cry. And he did cry. Harder than he ever had in his life, and he pressed his forehead to Merrow's and whispered I'm sorry over and over again.

After a while he got to his feet again, shakily, and he took Merrow and gave him a dignified burial at a place with a nice view of the zee. It somehow felt right. He laid at the grave a while, wishing he could be buried right there with Merrow. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to die.

The first thing he did after pulling himself together again was to head right back to Spite, guns out and ready for anything. He let off a couple of "warning shots" which, expectedly, caused a huge commotion. As Enoch made his challenge for his brother's killer to come out and face him, he was hit hard over the head and knocked out.

He woke up in an unfamiliar environment, a locked room inside of a ship. He didn't know where he was, and he was scared, confused, and angry. He was vocally expressing his problem to whoever would have been listening, making threats and vows and swearing oaths of justice against the perpetrators. His rant was cut short when all of a sudden it became very, very bright, (@zeebreezin congrats on the KO) and he forgot himself.

Thus, we come to current Enoch. He lives at the Grand Geode, he travels to London every once in a while, he gets a paycheck, and he's happy. Almost.

See, one of the things about Enoch is that everything he's been through, all his ups and downs in life, have made him who he is. It's the lived experiences that have built him into his individual self, whether it be dashing through the woods riding side-saddle with his fellow Rangers or learning rope tricks from Hezekiah, or even standing beside his father at the anvil, it's other people who made Enoch, Enoch. Those were moments where he felt genuine happiness. But he doesn't have that anymore.

He's not himself. He's the extension of one mean machine. He walks around smiling, but it's an applied exhilaration. Something that hides buried traumas and burned-away memories. Those golden eyes of his unable to reflect the starry night sky of the open range. Sure, the desire for vengeance against the one who took his brother from him still dominates his thoughts, but it's been carefully structured to feed into a greater agenda. Enoch, for the most part, is gone.

[ievaxol]

We were full of life

We could barely hold it in

"Alphinaud," Seike says his name like it's a whole sentence and Haurchefant — playing the role of amused onlooker, as he finds he often does nowadays — has to fight to stifle his laughter at the thoroughly unimpressed gaze she levels at the younger Elezen. "You don't know how to cook? Or you don't know how to cook well?"

"Either, I suppose," Alphinaud muses, blithely unaware of the metaphorical shovel he has in hand or the grave he's digging with it. "I have never been in a state where there is not prepared food readily found, I suppose? Though I have been known to prepare my own sandwiches, during late night study sessions back at the studium."

Whether it's a conscious thing or not he puffs out his chest as he says that, calling to mind a proud chocobo chick.

Seike answers with something like a grunt, signalling that the conversation is over as she stalks out of the room.

When Alphinaud turns his confusion toward Haurchefant he simply pats the boy's shoulder.

All things in due time.

"I cannot believe you managed to talk Luphont into this."

'This' being full access to the kitchens for as long as they needed, without the temperamental head chef of Camp Dragonhead looming over their shoulders. Haurchefant doesn't think it has ever happened before but Seike simply smiles, obviously pleased with herself.

"I promised not to tell the price I paid 'lest every damn person comes hounding me in this godsforsaken place.'" She manages to get Luphont's accent down pat and it makes Alphinaud snort.

"Now, Haurchefant, are you helping or are you going to stand over there and look lordly?"

Seike's in a good mood; the words dance, playful, and there's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when she regards Haurchefant.

"Helping... With what?" Alphinaud wonders aloud and Seike turns to him with equal parts affection and frustration.

If anyone asked Haurchefant he'd say that the affection outweighed the frustration, even if just by a smidge.

"I told you, we're making food."

"Oh." Alphinaud looks at the neat line of bowls and spices lined up, as well as the aprons waiting for them. "So we are. I did not expect it to be so..."

"Literal?" Haurchefant suggests.

Seike ruffles Alphinaud's hair with a sigh.

---

For all his inexperience, Alphinaud is a quick study. They're making something significant to Seike if the softening around her eyes and the reverent way she touches the spices is anything to go by and Alphinaud must feel that as well as Haurchefant does, throwing himself into the work with enthusiasm.

Seike's voice is as always pleasant to listen to. She narrates every step patiently, voice eventually dropping down to a low hum in her throat; mix the breadcrumbs and the milk, well done Alphinaud, now chop the onion, carefully.

As she flits around showing Alphinaud how to not cut off his own fingers and has a lighthearted argument about recipes —

"How much spice?"

"Until it's enough."

"Is there no recipe to follow —"

"You'll know when its enough."

"But specific measurements —"

— Haurchefant is set on popoto duty. He doesn't mind and even less so when asked by a Seike who smiles in a way she hasn't since they arrived here. Unburdened. A little lopsided.

Something happened with her and Alphinaud on the battlefield that day a week back, that much he can tell. This newfound understanding between Seike and Alphinaud is of the type that is paid in blood, forged in the fires of war.

Haurchefant might wish with all his heart that it could have been avoided, but he is glad of it all the same. It will no doubt make their journey ahead easier, he thinks, chest filling with warmth as Seike guides Alphinaud's hands, showing how to crack eggs with as little mess as possible.

There's spiced and ground karakul meat that Seike no doubt paid a pretty coin for — or hunted herself — and homely bubbling from the pots. There's laughter and light conversation and love filling the kitchen until it's fit to burst with it, until Haurchefant has to excuse himself and wipe at suddenly misty eyes.

For the first time since he took the seat, Camp Dragonhead feels like a home.

Alphinaud's meatballs turn out lumpy at first and he stares at them with a furrow in his brows until Seike pops one in her mouth — raw — and startles him into indignant protest, getting him worked up to the point where he forgets all about chasing perfection.

"Excellent work on the salt," Seike says around a mouthful of meat and Alphinaud squeaks.

Haurchefant follows suit — he finds that they're not bad at all, chewing thoughtfully as Alphinaud watches them both with abject horror.

"I'll have you know that those are raw," he says helplessly.

"Mhm." Seike agrees. "Better up the pace and get them on the flame then, before we eat them all."

"You wouldn't."

Alphinaud looks to Haurchefant for reassurance, except he makes a show of swallowing and then tapping his chin.

"I am rather hungry after all..."

---

They eat their meal at the kitchen tables. It is usually only for those needing a quick bite as they work but they dress it up nonetheless. It simply feels right in a way that making a meal of it in the great hall wouldn't — Seike sings to herself as she makes some last-minute adjustments and Alphinaud is trying not to look as proud as a newly become mother and failing.

Spiced meatballs with mashed popoto, jam, pickled cucumber and a sauce that Seike claimed as her pride and joy.

Alphinaud insists on serving them, shooing them toward the chairs before doling out portions with great concentration. Like this, mouth pursed and eyes gleaming with the joy of having done something well for the first time, he looks every bit the teenager Haurchefant knows has been hiding underneath the politics and plans.

In place of young Leveilleur the prodigy from Sharlayan is Alphinaud, a gangly teenage boy. It makes something pinch in Haurchefant's chest, painful and proud in equal measure.

Seike watches him work with a small smile curling her lips and once Alphinaud sits down alongside them she looks at him expectantly.

"Let us know when we can dig in," she says, voice wavering.

Haurchefant thinks that might be her equivalent to his misty eyes and he reaches under the table to squeeze her hand, getting a strong squeeze back.

"Well," Alphinaud puffs his chest out some more. "Enjoy! I dare say this is my best work yet."

"It is your first work?" Seike frowns before realization flashes in her eyes. "The sandwiches don't count, Alphinaud."

"Do they not — ?"

Haurchfant laughs throughout the entire argument.

[teamxdark]

Shield and Sword

I was feeling the dystopian knouge feelings and wrote this incredibly indulgent thing without having seen Prime at all or editing at all here have my stuff.

Everything. That's what she was to him.

In a world devoid of light, she was his hope. In a life where they had to run from place to place, hiding away from surveillance drones and security cameras, she was his home. In a world out to get them, she was all that was worth protecting.

Scars littered his being like cracks in glass or oil splattered in the streets. Badges of honor, that's what he called them. Evidence of his recklessness, that's what she called them, but he didn't agree. Every time she bandaged his wounds, her touch miraculously soft in such a jagged, violent world, his pride grew. So long as she stayed pristine and uninjured, that was all that mattered to him.

He was a guardian after all.

He was her shield, blocking her from the most dangerous and violent of attacks, soaking up hits that would send most sprawling to their knees or halfway into the grave. He was a tank, taking the most heavy damage and dishing out his own in return, no matter the bleeding, the bruising, the trauma or the breaking. Every press of her lips to his newest wound was a blessing, and every scar reminded him of his vow to make sure she never felt the harm of this world.

He doubted she would. She was nearly as strong as him, and perhaps twice as vicious. It made him smile whenever he carved a path for her to rain pain down from above, because if he was her shield, she was his sword, her flawless beauty disarming their enemies until they made the fatal mistake of underestimating her.

They were a team, more than anything else. They were each other's comfort, each other's safety, their companionship and their rebellion. The flames of their ambition grew together, feeding on each other until they were close to invincible... but they were still only two people. Two people against a Council who held the power of millions.

But that was okay. They didn't need much else. Even as they joined a larger rebel group, they didn't stray from one another.

Knuckles certainly wouldn't ever dream of leaving her side. Rouge was everything to him, after all.

...

Knuckles didn't care much for the blue one. He assumed way too much, claiming things about him that sometimes hit too close to home, and sometimes missed the mark entirely, but he said it all with such confidence, so assured in his belief that he knew them.

He kept trying to drag them into a group with two others, but Knuckles stayed by Rouge, always on the lookout for a sneak attack. These others weren't members of their rebellion, weren't faces that he knew or bodies he was willing to protect. He wouldn't let himself nor Rouge be caught unawares by them, watching her back like a hawk.

The blue one seemed to notice.

"Well well well," he chortled, digging easily under Knuckles' skin like shrapnel. "You two have something going on in this universe? It's about time you made a move."

Knuckles bristled, lip curling to reveal his teeth. How dare he assume he knew anything about his devotion to Rouge? How dare he compare it to his pathetically inferior notions of solidarity?

"I'll protect her with my life," he claimed, without even a morsel of embarrassment or hesitation. He said it like a fact, like how the sky was dark or the waters ran with filth mixed in or that any day might be their last. The blue one seemed surprised, caught off guard by Knuckles' frankness.

It managed to make the guardian even more frustrated, if that was somehow possible, so he decided to spell it out even more for him.

"I'll die before I let even a scratch get on her."

"Okay, okay!" The blue one put up his hands in surrender, and Knuckles felt nearly satisfied at having gotten his point across. "I gotcha dude, you're looking after her like... like a precious gem or something."

A gem...

Knuckles looked over at Rouge, frowning as she regarded the yellow one and the pink one. Gems certainly suited her; he could imagine her fingers running over diamond necklaces, sapphire rings, ruby bracelets and emerald earrings. And yet...

"No. More than a gem. My most precious treasure."

He spoke in terms that the blue one could understand, but even that wasn't entirely accurate.

No, she wasn't a treasure either.

She was his everything.

...

Another attack. Another hit. Another bruise to give up on healing. Knuckles didn't care; it was just a bit more pain that he knew how to handle.

He ran forward, hearing her wings beat behind him, and launched himself at the newest security drones that would turn to scrap beneath their feet long before they could hope to crush their rebellious efforts. Yes, there were more this time than others, but he didn't have the time or need to worry. He had his teammate with him, and his trust in her was absolute.

He knew that she trusted him too, and that was why he would never fail her.

His fist went through one robot, then another. Behind him, watching his six, he heard the sound of more of them getting crunched beneath her boots, ground into the pavement without mercy.

They were strong on their own, but undefeatable together. Knuckles basked in the adrenaline as he swiveled around her, grunting as he tanked yet another shot in their direction. Another crash and crunch behind him told him that Rouge had kicked another one out of commission.

Shield and sword, sword and shield. Complimenting each other with every fighting breath.

Another crash. Another bash. Another turn, another tank.

Undefeatable.

The drones kept swarming, but they kept fighting together, the grinding and screaming of metal being the only sounds to complete their song of effort. Knuckles didn't care if it took the rest of the day, this fight was theirs.

Or at least he thought so, until he punched clean through a robot and found his hand trapped for a moment longer than he expected.

A second or two to pull his hand out and get back to the battle. A second or two too many.

A blast. A scream that had his heart freeze and his soul choke in fear. A thud that sounded far too soft to be metal.

He spun around and didn't even allow himself a second to observe or process; he dove for her, huddled on the ground and breathing heavily. He shielded her with his body as the blasts continued to fire, taking in her wide, shocked eyes with his own.

Her shoulder... They had hit her shoulder, the fabric was smouldering and melting and a nasty burn was forming and oh, oh no this couldn't be happening. No no no no no...

Knuckles took her into his arms and prepared to ram through his opponents. Nothing mattered, nothing mattered except getting her to safety. The shield had slipped, and the blade was broken. She was hurt...

...and it was all his fault.

"What are you doing?!"

Her voice raised to a deafening shriek, and despite himself he grimaced, dancing away from laser blasts as his hands held his precious cargo to his chest. What was he doing? Wasn't it clear?

"You're hurt!"

Yet she still struggled, even as she sucked her teeth when she flexed her shoulder. A warrior until the very end.

"I can still fight!" she protested, peeling back his fingers like her life depended on it and Knuckles, too worried about harming her as well, felt her slip out of his grasp. He saw the tears of pain and fury gathering in her eyes, and he saw her blink them away. He saw her hold her head high, saw her push back her wince as she stretched out her wings, and followed her as she flew back into the fray.

She fought viciously, more wild and desperate than he had ever seen her, and he did the same, shoving back the pain and shame that he had failed her.

"Don't worry about me," she kept saying as they swivelled around each other. "Don't worry about me!"

He knew that she was feeling something similar.

...

Their roles were reversed; it was Knuckles with the first aid supplies, his own wounds long forgotten as he peeled back the singed fabric and took a look at her injured shoulder. The flesh was badly burned, and the sight was enough to make his stomach turn.

It was his failure. It was her failure.

It was his turn to apply the ointment, slow and tender as he could manage with his bare hands that were so used to rough treatment. It was his turn to rub at her back as the sting grew so strong that she bit her lip to keep back her pain. It was his turn to press his lips to the skin next to the wound, both a comfort and an apology.

Her hand squeezed his. He knew she blamed herself just as much as he blamed himself.

Neither would say it. They just knew.

"It'll heal," she said.

"It'll heal," he echoed.

All the same, it struck fear in his heart. Her burn, a symbol of his failure forever branded on her flesh, a reminder that his untouchable Rouge was, in fact, susceptible to injury like anyone else.

Had he done her a favor by guarding her, he wondered. Or had he made it so every injury that managed to happen upon her would shake them to their foundations?

Their fingers threaded together, and Knuckles pushed his warring thoughts to the side. He could think about how and in which ways he had failed her until the sun rose, but that wasn't what was important right then.

What he needed to focus on was how to keep supporting her, to the best of his abilities. How to make her shine like the treasure she was. How to ensure that, no matter what happened to them both, that they would both keep making it to the next day, and all the days beyond.

She was his everything, after all.

[minachan95-written-works-on-ao3]

Title: Once Upon A Love

Fandom: Togainu no Chi

Pairing: Keisuke x Akira

Summary:

During the usual hanging out with his college friends, Keisuke took more than he could swallow. And thus, now during the 24 hours he has to propose to his adored idol. Will he be able to do it? Read and find out~

AO3 Link

It’s already a late night, but not everyone can find peace of mind tonight.

That’s right, after hanging out with his friends from college, Keisuke has done something that he refers to as digging his own grave.

_________________

Earlier, on the same evening. When Akira was still at work, Keisuke got teased again.

This time, Keisuke’s unintentional habit of always bringing his precious boyfriend into any conversation and talking about him like an idol got him into trouble.

Finally, one of his friends had enough of it. Fortunately, it was their turn in the truth or dare game.

Even if it was a joking request for him to confess to Akira, the poor brunette took it personally and as a grave challenge.

After he bravely declared his intention to propose to his crush, the sound of the apartment door suddenly interrupted him. As Akira walked in during his speech, he froze in place.

For a while, Keisuke stared at his partner while fearing for his own life.

Perhaps the luck was on his side, and he dodged the bullet that was Akira’s silent, icy glare.

Yet, the brunette asked him out on a date.

Of course, the silver-haired male only covered his mouth and facepalmed.

Meanwhile, one of Keisuke’s friends patted his shoulder and wished him luck.

Lastly, he knew Akira would be mad at him for embarrassing him in front of everyone. Or so Keisuke assumed.

______________________

“What should I do now? I’m so screwed… Save me, Akira.” The brunette murmurs while hiding under the blanket.

However, he perfectly understands that he needs to deal with some business before the big day.

After taking a deep breath, he removes the blanket and leaves the tatami without waking up his partner.

It’s still a miracle how he finds his phone in the darkness without causing too much noise.

Suddenly, Keisuke is startled by the quiet mumbling and rustling sheets. As he slowly turns back and uses the phone’s flashlight, he feels like a heavy boulder is removed from his chest.

Apparently, Akira is sleeping peacefully, unaware of what is happening in the middle of the night. Lastly, Keisuke sneaks to another room to get one specific item, which may save his life.

______________

Some time has passed. As Keisuke closes the tool shelf door, he leaves the room while holding measurement tape and hoping that Akira is still deeply slumbering despite the left mess in another room and other noises.

When Keisuke silently approaches his partner and kneels, he glimpses at him. Unfortunately for him, he becomes mesmerized by sleeping Akira’s beauty.

It was not the first time when Keisuke was restless. However, he would observe his beautiful and serene boyfriend until he fell asleep.

Despite his phone’s limited storage, he can’t resist taking and keeping countless photos of Akira - be it him taking a nap or doing anything else, he won’t have enough of him.

More so, after one time Akira accidentally noticed Keisuke’s lock-screen, his reaction was too precious to him.

Yet, the brunette didn’t take a photo of his boyfriend hiding his blushing face with one palm and sighing. After all, it was enough to have it burned into his memory.

Perhaps Akira doesn’t know how lucky Keisuke feels to be his boyfriend.

More so, Akira allowed Keisuke to move to his rented apartment and asked him not to worry about the rent and focus on his studies.

That’s right, last year, the silver-haired male graduated while his partner still had a year to finish college.

Despite not having much time, the brunette cherishes those small moments they share.

_________________

But for now, Keisuke shakes his head and returns to reality. Besides, he is on a crucial mission.

After the brunette nervously swallows the saliva, he takes his partner’s hand and wraps the measurement tape around his ring finger.

When he carefully removes it and sighs, he senses something is off.

Suddenly, his wrists are pinned, and without realizing it, he ends up getting cornered and under his partner.

As Akira observes the bewildered brunette, he narrows his gaze. “What were you planning to do with that thing?”

Even if his partner stares at him like this, he is determined to keep in secret about his ulterior motives.

Meanwhile, the silver-haired male only patiently waits for the answers.

However, it will be pointless when Keisuke makes big, scolded puppy eyes again.

When Akira closes his eyes, he sighs. “It’s late. Just go back to sleep.”

As he opens his blue eyes, he continues. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve done That. But wait for a bit longer. Besides, I need to get up early for tomorrow’s meeting.”

After he lowers his shoulders and climbs off the brunette, he ruffles Keisuke’s hair. “Good night.”

Just before his partner is about to call his name, Akira lies on his side and curls under the blanket.

In the end, Keisuke is left alone with his thoughts. Yet, he immediately checks on the measuring tape and feels relieved.

 After all, he saved the most valuable digits in his life.

But for now, he repeats them to himself before falling asleep while clutching the measuring tape, hoping that nothing goes wrong tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be a challenging but big day for him. Yet, he cannot simply go to the jewelry store with Akira and pick an engagement ring.

Even if that wasn’t just for the out-of-blue proposal and ruining the surprise, there are other reasons why it wouldn’t work.

Firstly, even if Akira knew Keisuke’s plans, he would call them impractical and unnecessary.

After living a long time together, Keisuke noticed how his boyfriend was in charge of the finances, and maybe he took it too seriously.

Gladly, not to that degree when he would demand a report for every spent cent and nag on the brunette about overspending.

However, Keisuke is concerned about how Akira spends most of the budget on rent and other necessities but barely leaves anything for himself.

That’s why the brunette understands Akira would probably lecture him like a worrywart housewife for wasting money on something unnecessary.

Therefore, if he brings this up, Akira won’t agree with this idea and will not accept any negotiations.

Secondly, it’s wiser not to take Akira with him because it will stress him out learning where the brunette got the money for this.

However, the brunette isn’t afraid of getting scolded by his partner. No. He is concerned about how it will upset his boyfriend.

More importantly, Akira may misunderstand this as him not doing enough to support Keisuke. Therefore, he will take over-hours and work himself to death.

Yet, the main concern for the brunette is finding a ring that fits his budget while still expressing how much he cares for his partner.

After pondering for a while, Keisuke slowly falls asleep while having innocent, naïve hopes of soon making their relationship even stronger.

_______________________

It’s the beginning of the new day. After Keisuke gets up and heads to the kitchen, he notices Akira is already gone.

At that moment, he is slightly upset that he missed his chance to wish his boyfriend a good day.

On the other hand, the blue-eyed male had time to prepare breakfast for Keisuke before leaving.

That’s right, Akira has been in charge of cooking since the incident when the brunette left an awful mess in the kitchen and nearly poisoned his partner with his half-prepared meal.

Thus, Akira making breakfast is not an exception.

Of course, the brunette understands that all this effort is his partner’s prevention methods from someone causing trouble.

However, he doesn’t want to overload Akira with more work, even after returning from his job.

That’s why someday he’ll make up for that and prove to his partner that he can be useful.

But for now, he sighs and starts digging up the prepared meal by his loving boyfriend.

__________________

After the lectures are over, Keisuke gets to the nearest jewelry store and buys an engagement ring.

But for now, when he steps outside, he carefully opens the small box and gazes at the silver ring adorned with a sapphire gemstone for a few moments.

________________

Some time has passed. Somewhere in the city’s central park.

It is a beautiful, festive winter evening, and the snowflakes are falling slowly while the golden lights decorate the trees.

More so, tonight is even more special. Surprisingly, Akira agreed to go outside and let himself be distracted.

Besides, it’s been a while since they were on a date or at least spent time together without having unwanted attention. So, if that should make Keisuke happy, then it should be fine. Or so the silver-haired male wonders.

But for now, after noticing the fountain, which is not so far from them, the brunette stops walking.

After he turns his head to Akira, he stares at him with innocent, sparkling excitement in his eyes. “Hey, Akira. Can we go there? There is something I need to see.”

For sure, when his partner uses his big puppy eyes on him, the silver-haired male has no choice but to close his eyes and sigh. “Sure.”

___________________

A few minutes passed by.

While Keisuke stands in front of his boyfriend, he clenches his palms into fists and lowers his blushing gaze. “Um, there… There is something I wanted to tell you for a long time. But now… Now, I think it might be a right time to tell you.”

After a brief pause, he nervously swallows the saliva and lifts his eyes. “But you need to promise me you won’t be mad.”

“What is it? Did you get into trouble again?” The silver-haired male asks.

However, Keisuke only shakes his head.

When Akira silently exhales, he adds. “Fine. Then, what is it?”

Finally, the moment of truth has arrived, and it will determine the brunette’s fate.

After gathering all the courage, Keisuke kneels on his knee and starts looking for a specific item in his coat pocket.

When he picks a small dark blue box and opens it, he asks. “Akira. Will you do me make honored and marry me?”

For sure, this out-of-blue question bewilders even someone preserved as the silver-haired male.

Right now, all he can do is widen his eyes and cover his mouth. “Keisuke, I…”

“Did... did I upset you? I’m… I’m so sorry! I-I, I didn’t mean to.” The confused brunette replies.

However, just before he bows to apologize, Akira’s unusually shy voice stops him. “Y-you fool!… I didn’t say anything yet.”

When Keisuke lifts his head, the heat rushes his cheeks upon seeing his boyfriend extending his lowered palm and turning his blushing face away.

“There… That’s my answer for you.” The blue-eyed male adds.

Suddenly, the brunette’s teary eyes shine with pure joy. “A-Akira!…”

A second later, he doesn’t contain his emotions and jumps on Akira with his spread arms, making them fall.

“I’m so glad!” Keisuke adds while pulling the blue-eyed male into a tight hug.

For now, the silver-haired male struggles in his partner’s embrace and tries to push his face by using his palm. “I get it… Just get off me, Keisuke. We’re in public.”

After he climbs off from his boyfriend, he rubs his nape and helps Akira to stand up. “Ah!… Sorry. I got carried away.”

At that moment, Akira only closes his eyes and sighs. “Let’s go home.”

“But… but what about the ring?” The brunette whines like a small puppy.

“You can put it on when we’ll return.” Akira immediately replies.

Yet, Keisuke makes big eyes again. “Akira…”

Meanwhile, the silver-haired male rolls his eyes and lifts his palm without saying a word.

“R-right!…” the brunette responds.

After Keisuke picks up the ring again, he carefully puts it on his partner’s ring finger.

For sure, seeing how well it fit on his beloved hand and now knowing that his adored person accepted his feelings put a big smile on Keisuke’s face.

In the end, Akira takes his partner’s hand into his and prompts him to go.

Meanwhile, this gesture surprises the brunette. After all, this is the first time when Akira doesn’t mind doing such a thing in public and shows initiative.

But for now, he wishes to enjoy and cherish this moment as long as possible.

[fancy-feast-official]

bored so i'm gonna make a master list of all my ocs with descriptions lol. see the readmore for uh... more! (and please read the tags as there are some triggering implications in some oc descriptions)

bellatrice lane

this story was created by @flareboi! you can see more stuff about it on our shared toyhouse here

elias the witch age: (physical) 25, (actual) 255 pronouns: he/him (trans) born in colonial new england, and moved to what would later become new mexico during the revolution. does not know what the united states are.

adachi haru age: (physical) 34, (actual) 148 pronouns: he/him (cis) trained samurai, born in korea but lived in mexico city after his mother died. moved to new mexico shortly before his death.

zeyna la cour age: (physical) 42, (actual) 133 pronouns: she/her (cis) one of the three fortune tellers, took care of pumpkin while she was living in the circus

sybil clutterbuck age: (physical) 27, (actual) 127 pronouns: she/her (cis) an acrobat with terrible body dysmorphia. her ghost form manifests with many wings that she uses to cover her face and body (@mosseatermyla recently drew a wonderful drawing of her, which is the third image in this post!!)

jeanie birdwhistle age: (physical) 35, (actual) 124 pronouns: she/her (cis) mother of 5 (iirc), including the former contortionist of the circus. she was also a fortune teller at one point, after zeyna and pumpkin

felix levine age: (physical) 30, (actual) 109 pronouns: he/him (in a 100% genderqueer way) animal tamer and catboy, friends with sybil and didi/maxime as well as @fetts-macaroni-art's oc casper.

"pumpkin" age: (physical) 15, (actual) 106 pronouns: she/her (later switches to they/them) the youngest part of the fortune teller, former runaway who experienced true prophetic visions.

brindille "didi" auclair / maxime auclair age: (physical) 25, (actual) 102 pronouns: originally she/her but eventually he/him jeanie's second youngest child and the former contortionist. their unfinished business is egg-cracking.

théo birdwhistle age: (physical) 37, (actual) 100 pronouns: he/him (cis) jeanie's youngest, died in a car accident with his fiancé, claude, and got trapped in the attic of the house. initially unaware that any of his family members are ghosts.

claude shepherd age: (physical) 35, (actual) 98 pronouns: he/him (cis) théo's fiancé and local garden ghost. he looks like a gnome and always has plants growing on him.

phillip mclellan age: (physical) 19, (actual) 56 pronouns: he/him (genderqueer) former member of a cult in a town next to hapsville, where bellatrice lane takes place. had his own soul exorcised from his body and sent to hell, and he spent almost forty years fighting his way back out, before digging himself out of his own grave. basically possessing his own body, which has been mysteriously frozen in time.

damien lioncourt age: 15 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: vampire he is not aware that he's a vampire. just thinks that he's allergic to garlic and easily sunburnt (this is despite the fact that the rest of his family knows they're all vampires. they just... forgot to tell damien)

f.a.e. (for all eternity)

more information can be seen on the fae website here!

his majesty fechin dune of the dappled forest age: 25 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: seelie fae has a tumblr: @ask-fechin. king of his kingdom, and very very homosexual (married to @reedsaloser's oc knox affean, prince of naranthia)

veronica hippotigris age: 24 pronouns: she/they species: elf courting knox's adopted sibling rowan (who is fechin's half-brother... weird). loves violin.

zemenu/zamir pirags age: 21 pronouns: she/he (genderfluid but doesn't realize till she starts dressing as a man to hide that her partner is gay) species: seelie fae personal bodyguard and best friend of prince oberon fournier of finapor, an island kingdom near naranthia and the dappled forest.

silas waylen age: 18 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: seelie fae son of a disgraced noblewoman from the dappled forest, he's spent his entire life in finapor. twin of siana, and deeply autistic.

siana waylen age: 18 pronouns: she/her (cis) species: seelie fae daughter of a disgraced noblewoman and twin sister of silas. more adhd than autistic, and also missing an arm.

fish cardiff age: 20 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: human technically a witch, but he doesn't like to make that known. son of queen chrysanthemum's (fechin's mother's) first human pet, anton. he lives in the forest between his village and the dappled forest kingdom.

moon woo-yeong age: 19 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: unseelie fae the crown prince of the underdark kingdom of elysium, and one of the two survivors of a terrible carriage accident that killed his father and older sister. he has the power to see auras

myung jong-woo age: 15 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: unseelie fae the younger maternal cousin of the crown prince, and the older son of the head monk of the country's religion. because he didn't inherit the family power of seeing auras, he was passed over for inheriting his father's title in favor of his younger brother, sang-hoon, who he bullies relentlessly.

the house

pavel volkov age: 120 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: witch owns a magickal house with a mind of its own

duncan farwell age: 119 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: specialized human subject of a series of experiements which resulted in him being able to control synthetic magick

lowell cotreau age: 120 pronouns: he/they species: human magick experimenter who accidentally sent himself to the faerie realm, connecting the story of the house to fae. became the last human pet of queen chrysanthemum.

maisy osse age: 20 pronouns: they/them species: half-giant pavel's apprentice and literally the tallest motherfucker you'll ever meet. they have three eyes and my entire heart <3