#and that got me thinking about this scene

[umblrspectrum]

happy solvermas

[nights-nonsensical-ramblings]

Ahhh thank U hope the day is good!

right back at ya @aphantimes 💖. Got great art, makes me think about paper craft and your concept sketches do so well at conveying emotion and the feel of the scene, you got really goodbrain thoughts and I Love vibing with you. Very cool person.

@charleecat-bat you’re also getting a tag from me cuz you’re so cool. I adore your aus, their art and all the thought put into them. It’s been a lot of fun throwing things back and forth with you. You always give so much care to all the characters

@mama-qwerty you have super good character analysis takes and do really great hit with the angst then heal with the wholesome. And you’ve helped me many times this year so big thank you for that. And I’ve seen you give wonderful kind advice for your anons to.

@quazart you have a super cute and huggable art and you have such creative designs. You do such a good job at scenes with lots of characters and things going on and it’s still so clear and able to pick out so many details.

@mcfanely I’ve had so much fun talking and coming up with ideas with you. You’ve got such a great energy and i wanna thank you for helping to create the server that lead to me meeting and getting to know so many of these amazing people.

@acespeon you’re another person I’m always very happy to seen in my notes. You’ve been really great to interact with and I’ll be happy to chat whenever.

@guardian-of-da-gay yet another really cool writer/artist. (Amazing job on how much you got out during whumptober btw. Really impressive feat.)

@mushroomflood you to are an amazing artist! You make the characters look so sweet and vibrant. (And the same brain moments always give me a smile)

@sayurime I love chatting to you too! I really like so many of the concepts you come up with and chatting about them to.

@rapidhighway i must say I love the stuff you got going with licho and knuckles, super great dynamic there.

@heckinconfusedparade we may not have chatted in a bit but I still think of you with so much fondness

ands there’s plenty of people I see popping up again and again in my notes that make me go “oh hey it’s you :D” i appreciate your presences and makes me smile when I’ve seen you go through and like/reblog a bunch of my posts.

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[mmso-notlikethat]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3400 Ι Christmas fic Ι cw: unintentional self-harm

I might have some kind of fixation with writing them drunk but well... I love seeing them messy and pathetic sue me 😞

also on ao3

"Bar fights on Christmas Eve. Why is this a thing?" Hen muttered.

Eddie adjusted his gloves, surveying the scene. "Maybe Santa didn’t bring what they wanted."

Chimney chuckled. "Or someone sang ‘Last Christmas’ one too many times."

Buck stayed quiet, his mind already churning with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. As they approached, a police officer waved them over.

"This one’s yours... I think," the officer said, jerking his thumb toward someone sitting on the curb. Buck’s stomach sank as soon as he recognized the messy mop of dark hair.

"Tommy?" Buck’s voice came out in disbelief.

Hen tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Oh no.”

Tommy looked up, his face marked with a bruise along his cheekbone and a faint cut near his eyebrow. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and slightly damp as if someone had spilled a drink on him. Despite all of this, he grinned widely. "Heyyyyy! Look who’s here! Evan! No Buck!! My favorite ex!"

Chimney blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. "Okay, Christmas just got interesting."

Buck groaned, already dreading whatever explanation was coming. "What happened?"

Tommy tried moving, the cuffs clinking as he gestured grandly. "Do you know how great you are, Evan? You’re like—like Santa, but with better arms!"

"Okay, he’s drunk," Eddie said, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement.

Hen smirked. "No kidding, detective."

The officer sighed. "Bar fight broke out. He didn’t throw any punches, but he got hit, refused medical attention, and wouldn’t leave when we asked. Kept insisting he was fine."

"I am fine," Tommy slurred, his voice betraying just how much he wasn’t. "They didn’t mean it. They were just… passionate about pool tables."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "They punched you in the face."

"And the ribs," Tommy added cheerfully. "But I didn’t hit back! Isn’t that the Christmas spirit?"

Chimney snorted, already enjoying this far more than he should. "You got sucker-punched, and your takeaway is holiday cheer?"

"Forgiveness is key, Howie," Tommy declared dramatically. He leaned back slightly, his cuffs clinking. "I’m basically a saint."

Hen crouched in front of him, tilting her head. "How much did you drink?"

Tommy squinted, holding up his fingers. "Two? Maybe four? Could be six. Math’s hard."

The officer crossed his arms, visibly irritated. "He was trying to mediate, but when things got heated, one of the guys turned on him. Said something about him 'looking smug'—whatever that means."

Tommy perked up. "I do look smug! It’s my default face."

"Congratulations," Buck muttered. "You got punched for your great personality."

Hen smirked. "To be fair, it’s a punchable face."

"Thanks, Hen. Love you too," Tommy shot back, swaying slightly. "But seriously, I didn’t even fight back. I just told them to calm down, and, bam, fist to the face. It was… educational."

Eddie crossed his arms. "You learned nothing."

"I learned not to stand too close to drunk strangers holding beer bottles," Tommy said wisely.

The officer announced. "Look, if you can take him off our hands, I’m willing to let him go. Just… keep him out of trouble."

Tommy perked up. "See? I’m very cooperative. Just ask—what’s your name again? Officer Friendly?"

Buck said shocked and unbelieving “Let him go? You said he didn’t even hit back! Why is he even cuffed?? Why didn’t you just let him leave?”

The officer shrugged. "He was being stubborn. Kept saying he was fine, didn’t need help, and that he was 'the spirit of Christmas.' You try reasoning with that."

Tommy nodded proudly. "I am the spirit of Christmas. Forgiveness, love, and mild head injuries."

Chimney shook his head, grinning. "Oh, this is gold. Someone should write this down."

Eddie crouched beside Tommy, examining his bruised face. "Doesn’t look like it’s broken, but you’ll need an ice pack.”

The officer muttered something under his breath while uncuffing him, and Eddie stood up to help Tommy stand.

"You’re lucky they didn’t haul you in," Eddie said, steadying him. "But seriously, you okay?"

Tommy waved a hand, swaying slightly. "Never better. Just a little… dented."

"Dented," Buck repeated, his jaw tightening as he noticed the way Tommy flinched when Eddie accidentally brushed his side. "We’re checking those ribs now.”

Tommy looked at him with an exaggerated pout. "Evan, you’re still bossy. I missed that."

Buck rolled his eyes, biting back the mix of worry and frustration bubbling inside him. "Let’s go."

Tommy suddenly leaned toward Buck, sniffing dramatically. "You smell good. Like cookies. Did you bake? You totally baked."

"Sit down, Tommy," Buck said, guiding him toward the ambulance. "And stop sniffing me."

"Can we keep him like this?" Hen asked. "He’s much more entertaining."

"Yeah, it’s like finding a unicorn," Eddie added. "Drunk, unfiltered Tommy. Never thought I’d see the day."

Once Tommy was helped into the ambulance, Buck followed close behind, his jaw tight with concern. Tommy sat on the gurney, looking dazed but still trying to joke.

"See? I’m fine. You’re overreacting. Classic Evan."

"Take your shirt off," Buck said, already pulling gloves on. "We need to check for bruising."

Tommy leaned back against the gurney, his grin widening lazily. "Oooh you are a medic now? If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for the whole Christmas emergency."

"Tommy, stop," Buck said, exasperated, his voice sharp with worry. "Just let me check."

Tommy shook his head, folding his arms defiantly. "Nope. Not letting you play doctor."

Hen stepped in, putting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. "Let the professionals handle this, Buck."

"I can handle it," Buck argued, his eyes fixed on Tommy. "He’s hurt."

Chimney appeared on Buck’s other side, smirking. "He’s always been stubborn. You’re not gonna win this one. Let us do our job."

Buck hesitated, his hands falling to his sides as Hen gently nudged him out of the way. She crouched in front of Tommy, her voice calm but commanding. "Alright, Tommy. You don’t get a choice. Shirt off, now."

Tommy sighed dramatically, wincing slightly as he pulled off his jacket and shirt. Underneath, dark bruises were spreading across his ribs and a faint red mark lingered along his shoulder.

Hen frowned. "That looks nasty. You’re definitely going to the hospital."

"It’s just a bruise," Tommy said with a wave of his hand. "Tough guy stuff, you know."

Chimney raised an eyebrow. "Tough guys don’t take punches like that without flinching. Which you did, by the way."

"That’s because I’m cool under pressure," Tommy said with exaggerated flair.

Buck, standing nearby, crossed his arms tightly, his jaw set. "Cool under pressure doesn’t mean you don’t need help. You’re going to the hospital, Tommy."

Tommy tilted his head toward Buck, his smile turning genuine.

Buck didn’t wait for him to speak, his eyes flicking to the bruises before meeting Tommy’s gaze. "Let’s just get you taken care of."

Hen cleared her throat. "Alright, playtime’s over. Chim, get the monitor. We’re not taking chances with those ribs."

Tommy slumped back against the gurney, his grin faint but still there. "You guys really are like family. Dysfunctional, but family. Awesome."

As Hen and Chimney worked, Buck hovered nearby, his concern palpable. Tommy—even drunk—noticed, his voice softening. "Hey, Evan. I’m okay."

"You don’t look okay," Buck said, his voice clipped.

"But I will be," Tommy murmured. "Thanks… to you and all of you."

The ambulance hummed quietly as it crossed the dark streets, the faint sound of sirens cutting through the stillness. Buck sat on the bench across from Tommy, his eyes fixed on him as Hen drove and Chimney worked on notes up front. Tommy leaned back against the gurney, arms folded across his chest, his bruised face turned toward the ceiling.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Tommy tilted his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? Didn’t the officer give you the play-by-play? It’s pretty simple, guy punches me, I forgive him, everyone moves on."

Buck’s jaw tightened. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, you gotta be more specific, Evan," Tommy said, the grin widening. "I’ve had a lot of adventures tonight. Bar fights, karaoke, getting arrested… It’s been a full Christmas Eve."

Buck leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I mean why you were even there. Why were you drinking alone? Why did you let someone hit you and just—wave it off?"

Tommy shrugged, his expression still light. "Maybe I was spreading Christmas cheer. You know, turn the other cheek and all that."

"Tommy," Buck said, his voice sharper now, "this isn’t funny."

"Neither are you, but we all have our flaws," Tommy quipped, winking. "Come on, lighten up. It’s Christmas."

Buck’s patience frayed. "You’re covered in bruises and sitting in an ambulance, and you’re joking. Why can’t you just be serious now for five minutes?"

The grin on Tommy’s face faltered, and he turned his head away, looking at the far wall of the ambulance. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "Because serious didn’t help."

The tension in the small space grew, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Buck exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to rein in his frustration. His eyes drifted to Tommy again, and that’s when he noticed it—his eyes, red and puffy, like he’d been crying before the fight.

"Tommy…" Buck started, his voice softer. "Have you been—"

"Don’t," Tommy interrupted, his tone flat. "Just… don’t."

Buck fell silent, studying him closer. The faint hollows beneath Tommy’s cheekbones were more pronounced than he remembered, and the way his jacket hung slightly looser over his frame caught his attention. He wasn’t skinny, but he was leaner—more muscular, yes, but not in a healthy way. It looked like someone who’d been skipping meals and pushing too hard.

"You’re not eating enough," Buck said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Tommy glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t realize you were also a nutritionist now."

Buck’s concern only deepened. "You’re overworking yourself. You’ve always done that, but this—this is different."

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away again, his voice barely audible. "I’m fine, Evan."

"No, you’re not," Buck shot back, but Tommy didn’t respond. He stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the window as the city lights blurred by.

After a long stretch of silence, Tommy murmured so quietly that Buck almost missed it. "I HATE Christmas. Stupid captain—‘You are taking Christmas off, Kinard.’ Stupid, stupid."

Buck glanced at him, startled by the soft admission. Tommy’s head lolled slightly to the side, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, but the slurred bitterness in his tone cut through the haze of drunkenness.

“Stupid Christmas. Stupid captain made me take it off. What else was I supposed to do?”

"Tommy…" Buck started, but Tommy didn’t look at him. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible and leaned back against the gurney, his expression shutting down entirely.

The ambulance fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the engine. Buck leaned back against the bench, his hands gripping his knees as he tried to process what Tommy had said—or what he didn’t say. He wanted to push, to get answers, but the look on Tommy’s face—the shut-down, closed-off expression—stopped him. For now, at least.

…

The fluorescent lights in the hospital room buzzed as the doctor stood at the foot of Tommy’s bed, flipping through his chart. Tommy sat up slightly, one hand rubbing his forehead as he squinted at the doctor. He was more coherent now, though his eyes still held a hint of fatigue.

“Here’s what we’re looking at,” the doctor began. “Bruised cheek bone, two stitches on the cut above your eyebrow, bruised ribs, and—” he paused, giving Tommy a pointed look, “—a mild concussion. Turns out you did hit your head during the fight. But with how drunk you were, it wasn’t immediately obvious if it was the alcohol or a concussion causing your symptoms.”

Tommy groaned, leaning back against the pillows. “Great. So I’m a walking disaster. Is that what you’re saying?”

The doctor didn’t smile. “I’m saying we’re keeping you overnight for observation. It’s standard with head injuries, and given your condition—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I don’t need to stay here. I just need some water, maybe a snack, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You have a concussion and bruised ribs. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Debate? Come on,” Tommy said, his voice edging on pleading. “I’ve had worse. I’m a firefighter, I know what I’m saying. Just let me go home, and I’ll sleep it off.”

“You’re staying,” Buck’s voice cut through the room before the doctor could respond.

Tommy turned his head sharply, his tired eyes narrowing. “Why are you even here?” he snapped. “Just go. You got me checked in, that’s enough. Thank you very much!”

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he took a step closer, the tension in his face eased, despite the frustration still lingering in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re staying the night. End of discussion.”

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing as the motion aggravated his bruised ribs. “Unbelievable. You think you can just waltz in here and—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted again. “You need to rest. Stop arguing.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared at him, his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the fight. He let out a frustrated sigh, looking away. “Fine. Whatever.”

Buck nodded once, then turned toward the door. “I’m going to tell everyone your state and that you’re staying the night.”

That stopped Tommy cold. “Everyone?” His voice was sharper now, his head snapping back toward Buck.

Buck paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Everyone who needs to know.”

…

When Buck came back Tommy was lying back against the pillows, his face slightly turned to one side. His breathing was slow but uneven, like he was trying to stay awake despite the pull of exhaustion. Buck sat in the chair beside the bed, scrolling through his phone, his leg bouncing slightly in nervous habit.

Minutes passed, the quiet of the hospital only broken by the occasional beep from the monitor. Tommy stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at Buck, who hadn’t noticed he was awake. Tommy’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow as he focused on his screen. Finally, Tommy sighed, his voice soft and scratchy.

“Another Christmas at the hospital. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Buck’s head snapped up, startled. “Uh, you woke up.”

Tommy smiled faintly, shifting slightly on the bed. “Yeah, happens sometimes.”

Buck leaned forward, tucking his phone away. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Should I call the doctor?”

Tommy shook his head and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot through his temple. “Ow. Nope. Definitely no head shaking.”

Buck stood quickly, his concern sharpening. “You okay? Want me to get someone?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, his voice sharp. He looked at Buck and gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for staying, though. Uh… sorry about your shift.”

Buck moved to stand beside the bed, waving it off casually. “Bobby gave me the rest off. I’ll cover another shift later. It’s fine.”

Tommy winced again as he shifted to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, sorry… you know you didn’t have to.”

Buck’s expression relaxed, but there was a weight to his gaze as he looked down at Tommy. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, without warning, Buck reached out, his hand brushing gently against Tommy’s bruised cheek.

Tommy froze, startled by the touch. His instinct was to lean back, but instead, he found himself leaning into Buck’s palm, almost without thinking. “Uh, what…”

“Tommy... you’re hurt,” Buck said, his voice quiet and firm.

Tommy blinked at him, then let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Duh.”

Buck didn’t move his hand, his thumb grazing just below the cut near Tommy’s eyebrow. “No, Tommy,” he said, his voice heavier now. “You’re hurt.”

The words landed with a weight that seemed to knock the air out of the room. Tommy stared up at him, his expression unreadable, until his eyes began to glisten. He blinked rapidly, turning his face slightly to avoid Buck’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“You’re not,” Buck said, lowering his hand but not stepping away. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to push the emotion back down. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

Buck pulled the chair closer and sat down his eyes drifted to the bruises shadowing Tommy’s cheek and the faint red line where the stitches had been placed, “You don’t always have to handle it alone, you know. You can… let someone in. Let me in.”

For a long moment, Tommy didn’t respond. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I think I forgot how.” his voice quiet, almost fragile. It was the kind of admission that wasn’t meant to be heard aloud.

Buck’s chest tightened at the words. He gave a faint, sad smile. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy’s gaze flicked toward him, a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe hope, but definitely vulnerability. It wasn’t a side of Tommy Buck had seen often, and it wasn’t one Tommy would have willingly shown under normal circumstances. But here, under the dim hospital lights, stripped of his usual defenses, he couldn’t hide.

Tommy shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of the hospital blanket, where Buck's hand rested. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he muttered, his tone lighter now, though the exhaustion still lingered.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

Tommy smirked faintly at that, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Buck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because you need someone to be.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Buck’s response was immediate, no hesitation in it. “You do.”

For a moment, Tommy said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the faint glow of the city lights filtered through the blinds. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Buck straightened slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I told you we’ll figure it out together.”

Tommy looked at him again, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he nodded—just a small, almost imperceptible movement—and leaned his head back against the pillow once more.

Buck hesitated, then said quietly, “Uh… Merry Christmas…?”

The words seemed to break something loose in Tommy. He suddenly sat up, his movements sharp and panicked, a decision he regretted immediately. His face contorted in pain as he squeezed his eyes shut, a wince escaping his lips. “Shit,” he hissed, his hand instinctively clutching his side. “Shit, Evan, it’s Christmas!”

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the outburst. “Tommy—”

“You should be with your family, not in a hospital!” Tommy’s voice cracked slightly, and his hands trembled as he rubbed at his face. His breathing hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to— You shouldn’t be— God, this is all—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted softly, standing and taking a step closer to the bed.

Tommy shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You should be with your family. Or—hell, with the 118—they’re your family anyway.”

Buck sighed, ducking his head for a moment as he tried to steady himself. Then, with quiet determination, he moved closer, cupping Tommy’s face with both hands and gently forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Tommy,” he said firmly, his voice steady and filled with certainty. “Don’t you get it? I am exactly where I want to be.”

[redeyeyuna]

WHEN THE CAMS ARE OFF

So, Nandor and Guillermo are canonically doing some things when when they're not being filmed. With knowing this, I wanted to recap a few things from the season.

This post will mainly focus on how Nandor in particular handled himself subliminally towards the camera in certain situations. Also, that Guillermo faked to leave the vampires in E11 just for the documentary got me thinking which other things could be made up too. Giving a false view of facts just to make the audience think otherwise or to distract them from something specific... This specific thing they wanted to keep private, and didn't want it to be anyone else's business. Cause they wanted to solve and figure it out for themselves without having it exploited to the full in front of the camera. And this is the relationship development (secret affair) between Nandor and Guillermo that ran its course and has been cooked in the background during the sixth season.

[Sorry in advance for grammar mistakes and typos. English is not my first language]

The first hint is alreay in the first episode!

Nandor necessarily has to emphasize that he hasn’t seen Guillermo since he left, and Guillermo immediately throws in that he is telling the truth. But Nadja seems already to know what’s going on between these two idiots.

Also, Nandor trying to help Guillermo by searching for a flat and then suggest him to move into the VERY NEAR garden shed… A practical temporary solution if you don't want to be disturbed by the other housemates. I can well imagine that Nandor already thought of a better place for the two of them at this time. *Caugh* Secret underground lair *Caugh*

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

What about Nandor having a crush on the Guide?

... did he really ever have that, though?😏 What if Nandor’s crush on the Guide was made up by himself just for the documentary to distract the crew/viewers from himself and Guillermo, so that they don't keep following them to catch some shots? Yes, I know Nandor’s sudden crush on the Guide was at first caused by the sleep hypnosis… But for Nadja, the hypnosis seemed like a dream… Perhaps Nandor also thought he had dreamt that he suddenly had a crush on the Guide (or maybe Guillermo just told him) and Nandor was like: “You know what? That’s perfect! I use this to distract the doc crew and viewers from me and Guillermo!”

Nandor had one or more love interest in almost every season that he had a crush on. Why should it be any different now?

Due to this the film crew weren’t focussed on following them and wouldn’t wondering if Nandor could actually have something going on with Guillermo. Nandor’s crush on the Guide in general seemed very odd and just pretended for the camera/viewers. Over time, it seemed to appear more and more obviously and artificially.

In E4 "The Railroad" before Nandor said goodbye to the Guide, he looked suspiciously over his shoulder before making his flirtatious move towards her. It seemed as if he was aiming at it. Shouldn't he have been eyeing up his crush instead of making sure he was filmed flirting?

In E7 "March Mandess" Nandor looked very obviously into the camera during the scene used for the flashback, while Nandor is talking to Charmaine about the guide.

I also wonder why it was so important to Nandor that Charmaine would keep the thing of him and the guide to herself. Cause it’s made up and he just mentioned that he would has a crush on someone so that the film crew could add flashback? Generally, threatening to kill her in her sleep just because of that felt a bit too excessive, doesn’t it?

When the Guide finally rejects him perfectly in E9 “Come Out and Play” (you go, Girl!), Nandor seemed to fully ignore her destruction she has thrown at him.

He purposely ignored what she said. Even though he is normally so easily outraged. Especially after these true words that his supposedly "big love" said to him, he should’ve been at least a bit upset.  

Just remember how devastated he was, when Gail rejects him, and she had rejected him way more nicely.

And please just directly compare Nandor’s “look of love” towards the Guide with how he looked at Guillermo in E3…

And the Oscar-worthy performance, in which Nandor fell on his knees saying overdramatically that the Baron should take his life instead of the Guide seemed totally forced.

Also, Nandor knew very well that the Baron wouldn't have killed anyone…

In E11 “The Finale” Nandor and the Guide is only a short topic at the beginning of the episode, when Nadja asked him if Laszlo could use some parts of the Guide for the Monster. Nandor didn't seem to be listening anyway with his mind somewhere else.

After it was announced that the film crew wanted to end the documentary, he didn't even flirt or interact more intensely with the guide in the entire episode.  As if he no longer needed to fool anyone now that he knew the movie crew was leaving.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

What about Nandor still saying mean things towards Guillermo?

I also want to cover up the thing of Nandor remaining to say mean things towards Guillermo and wiping his hand on him after the intense hand clasp cause it was a bit clamy.

I I have read criticism of it in some WWDITS negatively posts. And this opinion is valid, no question. But I could imagine that Nandor only continued to do this for the camera, or it is just a normal thing between them cause they are a very fucked up toxic couple anyway ;)

Look at the slightly unsettled grin on Nandor's face when he gave towards the camera. As if he was worried that this very unusually long-lasting hand clasp could lead to more while the camera is still rolling. So, he had to come up with a quick excuse to end it. This facial expression from Nandor looking directly into the camera is so different from the looks he gave to the camera while interacting with the guide. It is just a short glace towards the lens before he puts his eyes back to Guillermo.

Guillermo looked as if he was sad not to express his gratitude to Nandor the way he would like to (cause of cameras as well maybe?)

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

The Finale

Nandor was so obviously happy that the documentary crew were going to leave. He was excited to shoot B-roll footage all the time and he sassily said this when Nadja told him about Guillermo being sad about the end of the documentary:

Looks like someone was really excited to no longer be constantly followed by the camera so that they could continue to focus on "other things"... Also, this reference to the will they/won’t they dynamic of Nandermo is insane.

Colin and Nadja suspecting Guillermo of having a secret relationship with one of the crew members could be an indirectly hint of a secret relationship with Nandor as well. @barren-heart already did this post about it which has made me to create this summary (hope you don't mind me mentioning you here :3).

Nadja possibly saw Guillermo making out with someone who looks like Nandor and maybe it was actually just Nandor!

She just don’t recognised it that fast cause they might quickly disappeared somewhere OR it was just another hint from Nadja, because she knew. She had become a bit of a nandermo shipper this season ;)

In the last speech of Nandor for the documentary it was so clearly to notice that the lair is only a metaphor for Nandor’s private life with Guillermo after the film crew would be gone...

This directly glance into the camera during the speech pause... As if he explicit wanted to make clear that he wanted to say something different when the cameras would be off.

And Guillermo’s reaction during that scene is so fucking funny. He seemed to have a moment of hope that Nandor would actually reveal their affair, but no it is the superhero lair again.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

The Final Scene

In the background, there was played the same song that was used in the pilot episode for the post-credits. I like that really much!

🎶“Tonight in the Moonlight” (Morrie Morrison Orchestra)🎶 Tonight in the moonlight When silver blends with blue We'll do the thing all lovers do Lingering on till dawn breaks through Tonight in the moonlight with you

And again that offensive look into the camera from Nandor in the middle of his speech and Guillermo trying to get something specific out of him...

If, by this time, someone still does not consider Nandermo to be canon, then I can no longer help them xD

Subtext is their thing! That's always been the case throughout all the seasons! And in such a way that it was already too subtle to be subtext.

However, even Guillermos love sick puppy eyes and his cute “What about one… one of the other reasons?" didn't caused Nandor to spit it out. He bravely continued to avoid eye contact and was trying very hard not to become weak.

When Guillermo said that he won’t be here anymore after Nandor would wake up, Nandor’s description of their secret lair feels forced, which again supports the thesis of an actual love cave: “But what about us joining forces and fighting crime in a coequal partnership? Operating out of a hidden underground lair accessible exclusively by a top-secret coffin elevator.”

Of course, Nandor believed that Guillermo wouldn't leave and was just putting on a show for the camera. He knows his Guillermo better than anyone else...

And THIS look of Nandor’s face when he wanted Guillermo to sit with him inside his coffin comparing with a confirming deep voicing “Mm-hmm”

Oh boy, as if they are going to do very spicy things in that lair...

Then finally the relevation of Nandor’s masterpiece...

During the whole season Guillermo had a problem with sexual things in front of the camera while Nandor had a problem with expressing deep and meaningful feelings while the crew was filming. And because of that they prefer do both things IN THE SHADOWS!

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

So, this my view of Season 6 and the Finale and also my special tribute to my most favorute show! 🦇♥️

It has become longer than expected. Thank’s to everyone who has taken the time to read it this far!

[haologram]

between you and me ❄️ l.c [m]

↳ part of the winter with you collab! synopsis: everything you've ever done, chan has been by your side - either egging you on or talking you off the ledge. after a rough year of studying, failed relationships and having chan be the insistent angel on your shoulder, the holidays roll around - and let's just say you're not too happy about it. genre: holiday au. bffs to exes to lovers (what a doozy); angst, fluff, smut. pairing: lee chan x fem!reader word count: 40.4k (DON'T LOOK AT ME!) rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, references to smoking weed, alcohol, food, use of sex as a general coping mechanism, jealousy. general exes who are still friends type of dynamics. mentions of misogynistic views, mentions of having kids, mentions of seasonal depression. chan is a bit of an asshole but redeems himself (and is overall just a good person but yk...) reader has a strained relationship with her mother. reader deflects a lot, chan cannot stop running his mouth. mingyu and sooyoung make several appearances. mutual pining. smut warnings: (let's take a deep breath for this one!) multiple scenes because they're fucking freaks (3 total!) alluded virginity loss (not depicted, backstory). teasing, frottage, heavy petting, bitiing, chan cums in his pants once. oral (m&f. rec.), face sitting, ab riding, subtle body worship (m&f. rec.), fingering (f.rec), pussy slapping (i know i know). nipple play (m&f. rec.), hair pulling, spitting, cumplay (just...okay?), switch!chan x switch!reader, chan likes it when she's mean, whiny!chan (can i get a hell yeah!?). slight strength kink, breeding kink, d*ddy kink (save me), love (?) kink (?). dirty talk (HELP. ME.), pet names (baby, princess, babe, etc.,) unprotected sex (don't do this), missionary (wouldn't be a haologram fic without missionary and body worship but i digress.) i think that's it! what to listen to: meddle about - chase atlantic ; habit - seventeen ; to die for - sam smith ; wait - dino ; heart - dawn ; scared to live - the weeknd ; fantasy - bazzi ; don't leave me - intro ; kiss it better - rihanna ; all mine - plaza ; the party and the after party - the weeknd ; always - daniel caesar ; fade into you - mazzy star. author's note: i fear i cannot shut the fuck up! yet another behemoth for caratblr, loverboy!chan save me please. special thanks to my dearest @diamonddaze01 for betaing this big ass fic an encouraging me to not give it up when i was truly losing my mind. thank you to @camandemstudios for allowing me to be in yet another collab of theirs. as always, dedicated to the most devoted dinonara i know, @bitchlessdino. snowflake dividers are by @/strangergraphics here on tumblr! enjoy the wild ride and happy holidays, everyone!

DECEMBER 22, 4:32PM.

Your car horn cannot take another beating, and you're not sure Chan's ears can take another annoyed, muttered string of expletives from your mouth – confirmed the moment he yells at you to pull over. You argue back that you're in the middle of the expressway and everyone around you is going over sixty miles an hour, but he doesn't care. You mumble profanities as you merge several lanes, pulling over only for him to tell you to stay inside and he'll get out. 

"You've been driving me up the fucking wall since we left the apartment. What stick do you have up your ass that you're upset about everything!?" He practically slammed your car door as he got into the driver's seat, swatting your bare thigh as you climbed over the console to the passenger side. You scoff, batting his hand away from your legs as you plop into the seat. 

"Nothing, Channie. I'm fine." You grit, yanking the seatbelt a little too hard for him to think you're fine. He sighs, resting his forehead against the steering wheel before he turns to look at you. 

"Y/N, I've known you since we were in diapers. I know when something is bothering you, you're not weaseling your way out of this." What was wrong with you? You're sitting in your old beater car with your life-long best friend, wearing his old cheer shorts and his t-shirt and probably his socks as well. You're on your way home during an unusually warm winter, hence the shorts, and you're nursing a cup of his infamous hot cocoa. The one with actual mini marshmallows, none of that Swiss Miss bullshit.

You'd had a great cheer practice before the break ended, with your coach telling you and Chan to please rest during the holidays – it wasn't exactly either of your fortes. She knew the two of you went home for the break together, and you'd likely be practicing stunts in your parents' basement – but you knew exactly why you were upset and it had nothing to do with cheer and everything to do with the fact that your best friend has had the best years of his entire life while you're being a sulky baby.

You cross your arms, the drawstrings of your hoodie yanked by the seat belt as Chan turns in his seat. "Everyone has bad days, Y/N." "You don't." You mutter, crossing your legs at the knee before you feel Chan's fingers pinch your cheek. "Yes, I do. I don't know where you got this idea that I'm perfect. I'm flattered, but I'm just as human and clumsy as you are." "Yeah, well…shut up." You huff, feeling Chan press his lips to your temple. "Don't be so sour. We're on vacation, let's enjoy it. It's our last one before we graduate, isn't that exciting?" It's not. It makes existential dread weigh on your shoulders, and it's so stupid. It's stupid dread, rooted in misogyny and lies and comparison that is the thief of joy. It makes you hate him, knowing that Chan doesn't have to worry about any of this but you do simply because you have some stupid biological clock that works AGAINST you.

You know once university is over, your parents will start to ask about marriage and kids. You know that they'll bring up Chan, over and over until you tell them for the third year in a row that you and Chan tried it and it just didn't work. 

Freshman year of college between you and Chan has to have been one of the strangest years yet. He had rushed a frat and you helped him move from his dorm into the house – and the brothers made eyes at you until Chan lied and said you were his girlfriend. None of them bought it, so much so that Chan had confessed about it and you were so wide eyed he was scared your eyes would fall out. Once the initial shock wore off, you shrugged and agreed you'd be his pretend girlfriend – that it would definitely get you out of some bullshit.

Simultaneously, it got you into some bullshit.

It was a few weeks before winter break, and you were both drunk at your first frat party. The two of you had been locked away in his room getting high earlier that day, and neither of you were in the condition to interact with anyone else or even go downstairs for more drinks – so you just laid in his bed and giggled about nonsense. He was propped up on his elbow, telling you about how the older brothers had made him pants the president of Alpha Phi and you were just staring off into space while you nodded along.

Until you looked at Chan a little too closely, your head on his pillow as he pushed your hair out of your eyes. He smiled down at you, his fingers tracing the shell of your ear as he continued talking when you sat up and anxiously pressed your fingers to your pulse point, having felt your heart rate spike at just the slope of his nose. Everything felt way too hot and intimate for two best friends.

He'd asked if you were okay, if you needed water – assuming you were too crossfaded to prevent the panic attack that seemed to creep on. You shook your head, screwing your eyes shut as you flopped back down and tucking yourself into his chest. He'd assumed you wanted to be held, so he threw your leg over his waist and ran his fingers through your hair, murmuring subtle praises as you tried to regulate your breathing – but the smell of the weed and your best friend's cologne was just too much and you wound up pushing him away.

"Channie, get away from me!" You'd whined, shoving him back and attempting to pull your sweater over your head. You failed, and he laughed, yanking it over your head the rest of the way. "Are you hot? Should I open the window?"

"You should kiss me, you fucking idiot. How can you tell your entire fraternity I'm your girlfriend and you won't even kiss me?" You'd poked your finger into his chest, your t-shirt rumpled from the sheer force of your sweater coming off. He blinked at you, lip jutted out in a pout. "Well, how am I supposed to know you want me to kiss you when you literally just told me to get away from you?"

"I'm your fake girlfriend! I'm getting zero play from anyone else because they think we're a thing!" 

"Aren't you a virgin?" He asked, sitting up as you smoothed your shirt over your belly, lying back down on your side, propped up by your elbow. "Aren't you? You're my best friend, it's not like we'd hump and dump each other. If we're bad, we can just learn."

Chan had been truly appalled at your words. The two of you had never crossed into this territory, despite knowing everything about each other. You'd been each other's first kiss back in high school, but that was fully a dare from your other friends and neither of you spoke about it again. He dated around with other girls and you had one boyfriend that was shitty, but it was always just the two of you at the end of the day.

"You want me to…" "Only if you want to."

"Are you joking?"

You hadn't been, and you proved that by tugging Chan down by his collar and pressing your lips to his. He immediately reciprocated, pushing you onto your back and shoving your thighs apart to settle between them. He wasn't a bad kisser at all – a little too skilled for your shy touches, but you quickly caught on to his movements as you felt him grow hard. 

"We don't have to do this at all. You know that, right?"

"Chan, I want you to."

He'd blushed slightly as you flipped the two of you over, letting him sit up with you in his lap and quickly pulled your top off. His hands were warm and nervous, but you kissed him again and it felt like everything fell into place. 

The first round was slow and gentle – you were on top, and he kissed all over your chest and face as the two of you got into it. By the third time, you were covered in nips from his teeth and his saliva as he folded you in every position imaginable. He was a young guy with a Costco box of condoms and the girl of his dreams in his bed – he had to commit this to memory. The two of you went at it like starved, depraved lovers – it was nearing seven in the morning by the time he reached into his nightstand and the box of condoms was empty. You were both sober by then…and the reality of your decisions began to sink in as you let him sink into you, raw.

"Y/N…" He whimpered into your neck, entirely too sensitive for this to be happening but you only mewled in response. "Feels so good, Channie, please…"

You only spurred him on, clawing at his back and whining his name as your walls overstimulated him. Every single part of his body felt like it was on fire under your touch, and he relished in the way your teeth sunk into his shoulders and neck as he brought you over the edge repeatedly. 

"Shit, b-baby…I'm gonna.." 

You only wrapped your legs around him, pulling him into you deeper as you kissed the words off his tongue. He tried to kiss you back, he really did – but failed miserably as he came inside you, hips involuntarily working the two of you through your shared orgasm. You kissed him messily as he came down, feeling his hands on your cheeks as he slowed you down, before pulling away fully.

"We need to clean up." He muttered, resting his forehead against yours, your eyes closed as you nodded tiredly. "I don't think I can get up."

You hadn't been able to – Chan wound up carrying you into his bathroom and holding you between himself and the wall in order to help you shower. You were so tired your eyes remained closed for the majority of it all – something Chan was grateful for because he just couldn't stop roaming his eyes all over you.

Thankfully, it'd been a Saturday the day before – so there was no reason for you to leave his bedroom. He gave you the cheer shorts he usually wore, and tugged an old sweatshirt over your head while also stripping his bed of the sheets. He threw your clothes in with it in the wash – and returned to see you asleep. He had so many questions, just watching as you snuggled into his pillow as he sank onto his bed, reaching for his phone to order delivery – only for you to tug him back.

"We can eat later."

"When can we talk?"

You peeled your eyes open for that one, looking at him tiredly.

"You're my boyfriend, Chan. Couples have sex."

"But–""I love you. Now, hold me."

And he did. He laid down, and you draped yourself over his chest. His hand went under your sweatshirt, rubbing small circles into your back as the two of you fell asleep. But his mind never strayed from how confidently you said those three little words.

That was one of many nights between you and Chan. You were referring to each other as significant others, subconsciously going on dates, and fucking like there was no tomorrow. He'd get you flowers, tell you how pretty you looked. You'd fluster him with comments of how handsome he was, and you'd spend hours slow-dancing together in his bedroom if you weren't just basking in each other's presence.

Neither of you spoke about feelings, but rough whispers of I love you slipped out often during sex, softer ones when he dropped you off at your dorm (that you were hardly at because you spent all your time with him), teasing ones when he just felt like it. You found it harder to say after the first time – kissing him in response, feeling your cheeks grow hot as he looked at you with said love in his eyes. Sometimes you'd mumble it, only loud enough for him to hear.

You loved him too. You didn't know when it became romantic, you'd never been in love before. But, perhaps if you'd looked deeper – you would understand that feeling like you can hardly breathe from pure excitement when he's around is a tell-tale sign of being absolutely enamored.

Perhaps, you said I love you first – because you were scared that if you let it fester inside you, it'd become too overwhelming. 

It did, anyway.

The two of you went home that holiday break and tried everything possible not to tell your parents anything. Chan's family owned the house next door and only used it when he was home – but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep separately after weeks of constant skinship. You tried for the first three days – only for Chan to sneak into your bedroom and stuff your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

Everything had been going smoothly until your parents found out – spotting a hickey on your collarbone that hadn't been there when you arrived. Your mother was the first to question you – her interrogation light over dinner with Chan and his parents.

"So…find any cute boys?" She asked as she poured you a glass of water, one you immediately reached for as you choked on your bread. Chan's eyes widened as they fell on you, spotting the bruised mark on your skin under your t-shirt from across the table. "Mom, what gives? That's so embarrassing." "I sort of asked Chan the same question." Mrs. Lee shrugged, before her hand reached to tug on her son's sweater. "Then I saw this and got my answer."

Two hickies on his chest, and Chan's cheeks burned beet red as he wiggled away from his mother. "Can we not do this?" He asked through gritted teeth, and you only covered your face with your hands as your father snorted.

"We always figured the two of you would end up together. It's just the way it goes sometimes. Friends before lovers is a good way to start a beautiful relationship." He nods, patting your back gently to ease your discomfort. You gave Chan a glare through our fingers, only for him to gawk at you as if you were blaming him for the entire thing.

"We're glad it's you, Y/N, really. I was always worried my Chan would get his heart broken by someone ruthless." Mrs. Lee pinches her son's cheek, making him groan as he moves away. "This is so embarrassing, stop it!"

"We've only been together for a few weeks, so can we drop it?" You mumbled, stabbing your fork into a meatball as your mother glanced your way. "...Sure, honey."

Your parents didn't bring it up again for the rest of your vacation, but things felt a lot more breathable after. You and Chan went out on your own several times – dinner, stargazing, a few hikes. You kissed eagerly behind closed doors, but kept your touching to a minimum in front of siblings and parents. He held your hand as the New Year's ball dropped, and kissed you moments after when his parents looked away. You felt your stomach fill with butterflies at the tender touches, but started feeling antsy as days continued and you couldn't have sex.

He offered to take you on a drive after your parents went to bed, and you wound up fucking in the backseat of his car that night to the sound of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. It was by far the most desperate you'd ever seen him, and the night you accidentally discovered a small kink of his – one the two of you swore not to speak of again after. Or rather, he asked you not to – but what kind of girlfriend and best friend are you if you don't tease him about his little ticks? You both returned to campus a few days later, and Chan managed to get you naked in his bed before you even unpacked your things. You'd decided to forego buying condoms on the way home to avoid the temptation, but just looking at you was enough to get Chan going and he had no idea how to make you understand that.

Until the spring semester started and the two of you got slammed with essay after essay, lab after lab, pop quiz after pop quiz. It was February by the time the two of you got to spend more than an hour alone – and you had nothing to talk about. You just kissed quietly, feeling each other up for hours until your underwear was soaked through with your arousal and Chan was painfully hard.

"We should break up." You murmured against his lips, and he nodded. "We should. After this, though." "After." You agreed, not knowing that Chan's chest had tightened at your words. Not knowing that he hoped just feeling you around him would mend that pain he felt, and not knowing he hoped he could get you to stay through the night – and break up in the morning. Not the night of his birthday, not the first night he gets to have you again after missing you for ages. Not the day that seems to have completely slipped your mind.

And, it worked. Yet another large box of assorted condoms and half a bottle of unnecessary lube later, you were tucked in his bed again. In his cheer shorts, in his shirt, and with dozens of love bites littered around your body. You kissed him as he slid into bed next to you, your arm draped over his chest as you began to talk.

"I'm sorry if it's sudden. You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you, but we just…don't have time." You had muttered, and Chan fought back tears as he nodded, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "I don't want to lose you, either. But if we break up…we have to stay friends, Y/N. We have to." He meant it. Even if it meant he had to break his own heart by spending time with you and not being able to kiss you, caress you, love you, he meant it. You were all he knew – his first kiss, his first crush, his first fake-girlfriend. His first real girlfriend, despite having dated around. His first time having sex, making love, and everything in between. The first woman he'd learned inside and out, and the only woman he wanted to know that way.

If time was the issue, he'd wait. 

But you didn't know that.

Shortly after your relationship ended, Chan found himself restless. His hand wasn't enough anymore, but neither was anything else he tried. He lost interest in porn easily and even wound up sneaking peeks at your Instagram for some sort of relief. He resorted to asking one of his frat brothers what he should do – and Wonwoo calmly looked up at him and said, "You fuck someone else."

Chan hadn't been sure what to do with that information. He wound up going to cheer practice early that day, only to find you doing stunts with Minghao, a fellow spotter and one of his frat brothers – his hands tightly gripping your waist as he threw you up in the air. He catches you swiftly, and Chan only feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment as you eagerly compliment Minghao on his skills, your hands gingerly wrapped around his biceps – your nails still the soft pink he chose not even a month before.

It was too much touching for Chan's taste, and he wound up turning right back around and skipping practice, sneaking out of the gym before either of you could see him. When Minghao arrived at the frat after practice and saw Chan in the kitchen, he asked him where he'd been – that you'd asked for him and wanted him to help Minghao with your stunts. Chan simply clicked his tongue and shrugged, "Was busy. She can figure it out." Minghao had been a bit taken aback by his comment, but said nothing as Chan practically pushed past him. There was a party a few days after that, with both you and a bunch of random girls in attendance – mostly girls from the fraternity's sister sorority. Chan had one up in his bedroom within the hour, and another two hours later.

You went home after seeing him take the first one upstairs.

After that happened, and Minghao spoke to you about Chan's behavior about the entire stunt situation, you felt a shift in your friendship. Chan became a serial monogamist for a long time – none of his flings lasted longer than two weeks, and he kept them at arms' length. He never mixed business and pleasure – the cheer girls were strictly off limits, much to their dismay. 

But you were the person he drunk texted. Saying he misses you and wants to hang out – and you'd hang out. You'd go pick him up and take him back to your dorm (later, your apartment) and watch movies, get drunk and fall asleep on your couch. He never made a move on you, and you never made a move on him because you were just friends.

So you shoved it all down. You watched him bag girl after girl, you watched him win trophy after trophy. You watched him make the Dean's list every semester, you watched him build unbreakable friendships, you watched everything he touched turn to gold and it made frustration fester inside you.

You struggled a lot after the breakup – from branching out and meeting new guys to your grades tanking just a bit – and it made you feel pathetic. You slept with one other guy, a guy from a different cheer team. You met him at a competition, and it was in the next city over, so you and your team had to get a hotel. You and Chan naturally roomed together…only for Chan to hit it off with a girl from another team, and it led to a heated argument between you and him to see who got the room for the night. He wound up storming out and staying with her, only to come back in the early morning to a locked door and the sound of you and the guy going at it.

Neither of you spoke about it. You didn't speak on the ride home, either – and you ignored him for a week until he texted you and asked if you wanted to get drinks. You agreed, and he apologized for his behavior. You only nursed your cosmopolitan, and accepted his apology with the condition that he buy you an appetizer.

An order of mozzarella sticks and a thing of marinara later, you forgave him. The two of you danced around conversations for a bit, before he offered you a lift home. You gracefully accepted, and he dropped you off at your apartment with a hug goodbye. A hug that lasted longer than any had since the breakup, and you felt…slightly put back together.

Things seemingly settled after that. 

Fast forward to senior year – you and Chan are still inseparable. You're co-captains of your cheer team, he's the vice president of his fraternity and you find yourself there every weekend to help with events if the two of you aren't at a cheer competition. He holds your hair when you throw up and he helps you glue on your false lashes for competition nights. He drives you to places when you're too tired but still want to go out, he tutors you for Organic Chemistry and gives you gummy bears as rewards for getting questions right.

Chan is your best friend, and he makes sure everyone knows – including the girls he gets in his bed every few nights.

Your eyes still lingered on him at parties – the way he'd grind against girls, the way he'd never done with you because you weren't a stranger to him. He'd seduce them with his confidence and kiss them, but never in the way he kissed you. You could see it, how shallow it was to him, before he'd begin moving them towards his bedroom.

But, even now – you miss him. Lonely nights in your bedroom turned into lonely nights in your shared apartment with him, having been convinced to move into a two-bedroom with him as a reward for making it to senior year of university without any major fuck-ups. However, you felt like a major fuck-up – because now this meant he'd bring girls to the shared home.

He hasn't, yet. But, he will. You're sure of it.

It makes your stomach turn to think about it.

"See how much calmer things are when you're not the one driving?" Chan's voice breaks you out of your thoughts, and you scowl. "Shut up." He only rolls his eyes, but you feel your thighs clench at the way he looks when he drives. You'd gotten used to this sight in many lights – Chan driving you home from an arcade night, Chan driving you home from getting drinks. Chan driving you home from the movies, Chan driving you home from cheer practice.

Chan driving you home after that night he fucked you senseless three years ago in his backseat, whispering how good you felt around him and how he couldn't imagine a life without you in it.

You sigh inwardly at the thought of it, opting to recline your seat and cover your face with your arms. You cross your legs before feeling Chan's hand squeeze your knee, making you jolt as you swat at him. "Stop touching me, I'm sensitive!"

"Your knee is sensitive?" He teases, fingers pinching it again as you groan. "You're pissing me off, Chan."

He only snickers, his fingers brushing up your thigh before you shove it away. "Quit." "Alright, alright. At least put on some music, I need to hear something other than your whining." He holds up the aux cable, and you take it and plug it into your phone. You press shuffle on your Spotify, ignoring the way your cheeks heat the moment Meddle About by Chase Atlantic starts. 

He only turns the volume up.

"You guys are home!" Mrs. Lee greets you by throwing her arms over you, and you nearly stiffen before Chan gives you a pointed look. You hug her back warmly, thanking her for being so excited to see the two of you. "How is school? Still doing well, I hope!" "Doing great, Mrs. Lee. Chan's helping me quite a bit these days." You nod in the direction of her son, who is unloading everything as you shove a stick of gum into your mouth. His arms look great in that long sleeve…he should wear it more often…

"...And your mom made that brown sugar ham you love! Isn't that exciting!?" Mrs. Lee's voice brings you back as you nod quickly, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets as the wind picks up a bit. "Yes! I'm starving, you have no idea. We survived on jerky." Your pout makes Mrs. Lee coo, her knuckles pinching your cheek as she beckons you to follow her into your house. Chan gives you a glare as he grabs your duffel, and you only blow a kiss at him as you follow his mother inside. "Y/N!" Your little sister can be heard screaming from the top of the stairs, and you smile as you turn – seeing her practically fly down them, her arm in a pink cast as she wraps it around you. "Hey, babycakes! What happened to your arm?" "Rosie took a tumble down the stairs last week, I keep telling her to slow down." Your mother appears out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she presses a kiss to your cheek. "Welcome home, darling."

Your sister begins to ramble about everything going on at school with her friends – that Katie has a crush on Hyunjin but Hyunjin likes Minseo and Minseo thinks Katie is too mean to join their coloring circle. All too much for you to process in one go, and definitely too much for her to get out in one breath because she stops the moment you hear Chan grunt, kicking the door open slightly to make his way inside.

"Chan!" She abandons you, and Chan lights up as she runs into him, spinning her around. "Hey, Rosie! It's been so long, oh! What happened to your arm?" 

He kneels down to her height, and it makes your heart warm. Your parents definitely did not plan to have another child so late in life, but Rosie was the easiest kid ever. You remember when they brought her home – you were a junior in high school and you were ecstatic. You'd been staying with the Lees, and they all came over to meet her.

Chan was the only one who pulled you aside and asked how you were doing. You admitted you were a bit overwhelmed, and he wound up offering to stay the night and just talk. His parents allowed it and the two of you ordered takeout and spent the entire night just talking.

Rosie kept your parents young and on their toes – enough that they made friends with other couples in their neighborhood. Rosie was popular, she had lots of friends at school and around the neighborhood – loads of people came to her birthday parties and your home was the designated playdate house. 

You zone back in to see Rosie offering Chan a marker, and you gasp. "No way you're letting him sign before me! I'm your sister!" "But Channie's my best friend." She retorts as you walk over, squatting next to Chan, who sticks his tongue out at you. "That's what you get for not helping me unload the car." "Oh, but you're so big and strong! You're supposed to do it!" You argue back childishly, only for your little sister to stomp her foot. "Sign it! I have things to do!" Chan bites back his laughter as he signs it, before handing the marker over to you. "Do tell, Rosie. What things do you have to do?" "Well, I have a tea party in ten minutes and I do not like to be late. The tea will get cold." She sniffs, and Chan pats her shoulder. "Have fun, pipsqueak." She runs off, obviously over the excitement of her sister and her 'best friend's' arrival. Chan gives you a glance, "Feeling better after having to do nothing?" You shrug, smiling at him. "I appreciate you, you know that." "You have a funny way of showing it." He says pointedly, before tilting his head towards his duffel. "Mom said I have to stay with you this time, my cousins are in town for a few days and they're in my room. Is that cool?" "Promise you'll wear socks to bed?" You hold your pinky out and he sighs, shaking his head as he links your pinky with his. "Fine, but that means you have to wear pants." You smirk, winking at him. "It's my bed, Chan." You stand up straight, shaking your legs out before walking away from him. He shakes his head again, tonguing his cheek as he follows suit. You wander into the kitchen, and your mother greets Chan with a hug. They start catching up about little things as you open the fridge, grabbing a wine cooler for yourself and a beer for Chan, shoving it into his chest and leaving. You hear your mother jokingly ask if Chan wanted the air mattress, and he only laughs before denying it, saying he should help you unpack and get comfortable. She agrees.

"Need help?" He moves to leave the beer on the table, your wine cooler tucked under your arm as you hoist your duffel over your shoulder. 

"Nope." You smile, making your way to your bedroom. Yours is the only one downstairs, and it's in the furthest corner in the house as well. You practically begged your parents for it, insisting it was the warmest room in the house when the winters came about – and once Rosie came along, they let you move downstairs, saying the baby needed to be near them. You'd eagerly agreed and moved out happily.

Chan followed behind you quietly, his own bag over his shoulder as he took a sip of the beer you gave him. He wouldn't finish it, and the two of you would likely swap drinks before either of you had too much of it. As he reached your room, he saw you backflip onto your bed, a groan from your lips as you sank into the memory foam mattress.

"Fuck, this is gonna do wonders for my back." You moaned, eyes closed as you kicked your shoes off. He snorted, putting his beer next to your wine cooler on your dresser before doing the same. "Jesus, when did they get this for you? Your mattress has always sucked." You know he's not referring to the time three years ago that he snuck in, but your cheeks heat anyway as you look at him. His eyes widen, and he clears his throat. "I didn't mean–" "They got it for me last summer." You interrupt, and he nods quickly. "Sorry." "For?" You try to act nonchalant, but you clear your throat one too many times for him to think it's fine. So…he makes it worse. "We never talk about those days, you know. It's not like…it's weird. Right?" Not weird at all. I don't miss the way you felt inside me, nope. Not at all.

"Do you…want to?" You don't mean to sound so bitter, but Chan clicks his tongue. "I mean…it wasn't the worst thing ever. I…liked you a lot." You grimace at the awkwardness, but try and shrug. "I mean…I hope so. We did say we loved each other. A lot, might I add." "I said it a lot, you deflected." He corrects you, and you turn your head to look at him. "Are you doubting that I loved you?" "You wanted to break up on my birthday, Y/N, not even a week before Valentine's Day. Forgive me for assuming." He rolls his eyes, and you sit up. "No, I didn't. Your birthday is on the 11th." "Yeah. You came over on the 11th after we didn't see each other for weeks. We were kissing and you said that we should break up." He props himself up on his elbow, and your brow furrows as you think. 

The two of you managed to sneak a glance or two in during cheer practices, but the days before blurred together because you pulled several all-nighters studying for your anatomy midterm. You remember checking the time before you left your dorm to go spend the night with him, it'd been five-thirty.

On February 11th.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You breathe, and he shakes his head. "What good is it now?" He shrugs, picking at a loose thread in your comforter.

"Chan, I'm sorry." Your hand finds his shoulder, and he gives you a soft smile. "It's fine. You finished the day with me anyway, that was all I'd wanted that year."

I'm sorry for breaking up with you, I wish I hadn't done that.

"I did love you. I still do, you're literally my best friend." You say gently, and Chan's eyes meet yours. They hold something you can't quite grasp, "It's different. Of course I love you, you're my best friend." You feel like your stomach is about to fall out of your ass when Chan shrugs again, his shoulders constricted by the tightness of his top. Your eyes follow the curve of his waist, his sweatpants tied around his hips loosely. "It's just different between you and me now, you know? It's not the same friendship it was before." He rolls onto his back, arms behind his head as he keeps talking. "Sometimes, I think it shouldn't have happened at all. I mean, let's be honest. Between you and me…things have always just been simple. We overcomplicated it by doing whatever it is that we thought would enhance our relationship." You can feel your chest aching with every word, but you can't seem to stop listening. Your eyes burn with tears as you let him keep talking. We?

"I guess it was something of a dumpster fire. Everyone always assumed we'd be something, maybe it's good we got it out of our systems." He nods, before looking at you. His eyes widened, sitting up quickly as you covered your face with your hand. "Y/N–" "You can be really, really coarse sometimes." You mumble, sliding off your bed and grabbing your wine cooler off the dresser. "I'm going to go find my dad, make yourself at home." You tighten your sweater around yourself, flinging the door open and slipping into the bathroom. You refuse to let the tears fall, taking a deep breath before drinking half of your can. You press the cool metal to your cheeks before stepping out, walking out towards the garage to see your father tuning one of his many guitars.

"Oh, you're home! I've missed you!" He puts the bass guitar down, before he frowns. "What's wrong, honey? Are you okay?" "M'fine. Hey." You shake your head, giving him a one-armed hug. He's not convinced, holding you closely. "You can talk to me, you know that." "It's stupid. What are you doing here?" You set your drink down on his workbench, only to see your father's stern look staring down at you. You sigh, running your fingers over the strings of the guitar. "Chan and I broke up." Confusion crosses his features as you take a seat on one of his cushioned bar stools. "I thought you broke up ages ago, sweetie." "We did. That's the problem." You mumble, feeling a tear slip out of your eye and you brush it away quickly, but your father sighs carefully, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You bury your face into his ribcage, feeling sobs rack your body as he hums quietly. Your father had always been the person you went to when it came to Chan, because your mom was convinced you'd be the brute of the relationship – and insisted you were too harsh with your words at times.

"What'd he say this time?" He asks softly, and you wipe at your nose with your sweater sleeve, trying to form it in a way that doesn't expose your entire relationship. "He just mentioned that he felt like our friendship was different now that we'd involved feelings in the past, and that he thinks it's better that we 'got it out of our systems.' He said that he wishes it'd never happened sometimes, who says that?" Your father nods, a frown on his lips as he sighs. "I'm sorry he said those things, honey. I assume he didn't know you still felt some type of way about him?" "I don't." You lie through gritted teeth, but your father knows you far better than that. He pats your shoulder, glancing down at you. "Now, you and I both know that's not true. You called me crying about him a few weeks ago, didn't you?"

You had. You don't exactly remember what you'd said, but you remember it being three in the morning and your mother taking the phone and telling you to get a grip. It only made you cry harder, enough that your father stayed up for the next two hours soothing you over the phone. Chan walked into your bedroom a few hours later and asked if you were okay. You kicked him out of your room out of embarrassment. "Why can't you be one of those dads that kicks the guy's ass for me?" You pout, swatting his arm as he lets out a full bellied laugh. "Because I have two wonderful daughters and a loving wife I need to provide for. If I beat up every guy that crosses you, I'd be sent away. I'd miss graduations, birthdays, anniversaries. Weddings, at some point. I'd hate to miss those beautiful moments." You roll your eyes, and your father smiles lightly. "I also happen to know how to distinguish when my daughter is doing these things to herself. Chan might be saying things you don't exactly want to hear, but that's exactly what you're not doing. You're not talking to him about anything. He can't know how you feel if you're not telling him." You huff, but you know he's right. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. There's nothing to tell him, and if he wants to act like we're better off being as distant as we are then I'm no one to beg for his presence." "That pride of yours will get you in trouble. Knock it off." He says pointedly, before sitting on the stool next to you. "Now, listen to this. I think my tune is still off."

Dinner was always a nice, intimate affair between your family and Chan's. You gather around the large mahogany table your father made years ago, and talk about everything and anything under the Sun. They ask you and Chan about school, cheer, and dating. Rosie talks about her friends and her toys, your mother talks about her restaurant and your father about his music store. The Lees tell you about their dance company, and give you updates on Chan's younger brother, who would be spending the holidays stuck at work. 

Dating spins the table once more, and your father gives you a look that says he'll change the topic if you say the word. Mrs. Lee starts by teasing her son, who flushes beet red and insists he's not looking for anything right now. 

"I still never found out why you and Y/N broke up." Mr. Lee chimes in, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you grip your fork. Rosie looks between the two of you, her nose crinkled. "Ew! You were boyfriend and girlfriend?!" "No." You answer quickly, and your voice is far too nonchalant for Chan's taste, it seems. He gives you a confused look, and you shrug. "We just didn't work out. It wasn't good for us." "Easy for you to say." He mutters, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. You grimace, and Mr. Lee shifts uncomfortably before you feel the words tumble from your mouth. "Yeah, well when you tell your girlfriend she doesn't love you, it's kind of hard to want to be together." Mrs. Lee's eyes are wide, spluttering over her glass of water as Chan groans, pulling his cap over his eyes. "That's not what I said, Y/N, you're twisting my words." "Am I?" You scoff, letting your fork clatter on the table as you push your chair back. "I mean, seriously, who fucking cares anymore? It's been three years." "Language, Y/N." Your mother's voice is stern, gesturing to your little sister who looks increasingly bewildered. You sigh, closing your eyes as you scoot your chair back into the table. "We just broke up. It's fine. I'm sorry for swearing, Rosie. Bad girl Y/N." You apologize to your sister, who nods slowly.

Chan mumbles an apology to Rosie as well, and the tension is thick as Mr. Lee clears his throat. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Not your fault, Mr. Lee. Sore subject." You shake your head, patting the left side of your chest, as if saying it pains you. He gives you a sorry smile, before Mrs. Lee speaks up. "Will you be fine to room together? I don't want you guys to fight this entire trip, we haven't seen you in so long." "It's fine." You and Chan say in unison, eyes meeting in a glare over the table. "I know how to keep my mouth shut, it's no problem." You add, and Chan scoffs, mumbling something like ridiculous under his breath.

"Alright, that's enough. We haven't seen you guys in four months. We're going to sit here and enjoy this dinner, damnit!" Your mother speaks loudly next to you, making you jolt. Chan apologizes as he sits up in his chair, your little sister wide eyed as your mother shoves a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. You elbow her lightly, and she coughs.

"Sorry, Rosie." Your father makes the rest of the dinner go smoothly. He mentions his store, and tells a story about a guy who came in wanting to learn a few songs for his wife who was in the hospital. Everyone listens intently, and dinner is wrapped up within the hour. You offer to pick up, your mother's tired eyes thankful as she carefully hauls your now sleeping sister up the stairs to bed.

You tongue your cheek as you bid goodnight to the Lees, offering to wrap the cake your mom made in case they want to have a sweet midnight treat. They accept it and you watch them as they make the walk down the lawn to their house. You shut and lock the door, seeing Chan lingering at the bottom of the stairs speaking to your father. They both look apologetic, but Chan's cheeks are tinged pink as he rubs his neck, a habit he developed when feeling sheepish or admitting something.

You frown to yourself, turning back to the table. You gather all the plates, stacking them as you walk around the table. You'd pack the leftovers first, but you had to move everything out of the way properly.

"I'll wash." You hear Chan say, before he takes the plates from your hold. You don't reply, simply moving to gather all the cups and silverware. You dump any remaining drinks down the sink, ignoring the way he scrapes the plates over the garbage can. You move around in silence, quickly wrapping leftovers and moving them into containers, before sliding everything into the fridge and standing next to him as he washes the cups, moving onto the silverware quickly.

"I didn't think it would bother you." He begins, and your hand tightens around the glass in your hand, before you wipe it down with the rag in your other hand. He scrubs the silverware harshly as you mutter, "You assumed." "Yeah, well, I thought we were best friends. I thought I could assume shit and be right." He huffs, and you carefully take the knives from him, swiping the rag over the blades with ease. "You are right." "What?" He looks up from the soup bowl in his hand, and you shrug. "You are right. I guess I just didn't want to admit it earlier, but things are different between us now. It's whatever." You're lying. You're absolutely lying and Chan's face tells you he knows.

"You've always been a bad liar, Y/N. Don't start trying now." He scoffs, and you don't say anything as you dry the forks and spoons, opening the drawer to put them away. He washes the rest of the bowls in silence, but sucks his teeth the moment he grabs a plate.

"Why?" He asks reluctantly, and you raise a brow at him. "Why, what?" "Why are things different?"

You hum in response, drying a bowl as you think.

"For one, you've been inside me." You start, making him cough. "Be serious." "I am serious! Did you not fuck me three ways to Sunday every time I slept over? Did I imagine that?" You snort, and you watch his cheeks flush as he tongues his left one. "Whatever. What else?" "You stopped hanging out with me as much. I would call or text and you'd leave me on delivered for hours, and then get back to me once I was already ready for bed. Or you'd drunk dial me and come over. You used to properly spend time with me, but after that whole dumpster fire, you kind of just hung out with me when you wanted to." You don't intend to sound so hurt as you say this, but Chan's hands slow under the running water. He nods, a soft look in his eyes as he glances at you. "I'm sorry." "What good is it now?" You repeat his words to him, and he looks up at you. "Don't be like that." "You also blatantly made moves on other girls in front of me. If the relationship meant nothing to you, you could've said that. It would've made moving on a lot easier." You say pointedly, before forcing out a humorless laugh. "God, your body count must be in the double digits now. Is it?" He doesn't reply, but you nudge him with your elbow. "Is it?" "Yes."

You shake your head, tonguing your cheek as you open the cabinet and slide the bowls in carefully.

"What's yours?" "Two." You respond shortly, his eyes wide as he looks up at you again. "Two?"

"Problem?" Your brow is quirked as you reach for the first plate, and he shakes his head. "No. I just…" "Assumed it would be higher? Yeah, you're doing a lot of that lately." You roll your eyes, and he scowls. "Can you stop? You had some fault there too, you have to admit that." "I don't see how I'm to blame at all for you just assuming I didn't love you. I spent every waking moment by your side if I wasn't studying or showering, and even then it was like we were glued at the hip. I hardly had my own space, you literally snuck into my room after three days because you couldn't sleep without sticking your dick in me." "Why do you keep talking like the sex was only good for me? Like you didn't enjoy yourself? Because I remember something very fucking different." He scrubs the plate in his hand with vigor, and you let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Maybe I don't remember it that way. Maybe it was only good because I loved you. The other guy was very different." Chan tenses at your words, his hands still under the running water. "Was he?" "Yeah." You nod, but the truth is, you didn't like it nearly as much. He made you cum, sure, but it was missing that…flair. That eagerness Chan always had, the passion he had, the stamina to keep up with you. It was missing the love you had for Chan, and you remember struggling not to ask this random hookup to hold your hand, or kiss you when you came, or to tell you he loved you.

All things Chan did without realizing.

"Mmh." He doesn't speak again, handing you the dishes almost angrily before muttering something about a shower and leaving the kitchen. You wipe down the counter silently, your eyes welling with tears when you hear Chan rustle about. You assume he's moving into the bathroom when you feel a hand on the back of your head, carefully tangling in your hair as you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"You do a really good job of pissing me off, but I won't ever deny that you're the best I've ever fucking had. No one feels like you and no one has made me feel like you have. No one." He pushes you back lightly, storming back out of the kitchen with his shirt in his hand. You get a glimpse of his bare back, the muscles tense as he walks away. You feel your heart racing in your chest, your fingers coming to check your pulse as you take a deep breath.

Some vacation this is going to be.

DECEMBER 23, 7:22AM.

You thank God for the fact that everyone in your house is a deep sleeper, and can't hear how loud your heart is beating in your ears at this present moment.

Chan had taken the edge of the bed closest to the door, something he always did when the two of you shared a mattress. Or rather, the edge of the fucking mattress — he was practically hanging off. You curled into the corner closest to the wall, and stayed there the majority of the night. Chan left your TV on, knowing the white noise of whatever show he put on would lull you to sleep.

However, throughout the night, Chan migrated closer and closer to you – eventually opting to pull you into his chest. Your leg was draped over his hip and your face was nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his soft body wash and the baby powder deodorant he stole from you.

"Chan, get off me." You groaned, pushing the heel of your palm into his shoulder. He scrunched his nose, shoving your hand away before pulling you back in. "Just fucking hold me, will you?" He rested his chin on your head, arms wrapped around you like a boa constrictor attempting to asphyxiate its prey. "Chan, I can't breathe." You're muffled against his ample chest, and he only slightly loosens his arms. You wiggle about, attempting to get comfortable at the very least, when his hand moves to grip your hip.

"Stop." His voice is hoarse as he pushes your hips away from him, which ends with you on your back and his arm over your waist. You sigh, reaching for your phone to check the time.

Seven-thirty-four. Your mother is likely either about to get up or making breakfast right now.

"I'm gonna get up." You mumble, wiping at your eyes when Chan is muttering under his breath. You lean closer to hear him, but he stops. "Speak up, I can't hear what you're saying." "Nothing, go. Eat something." He turns his head away from you, buried into the pit of his arm and the pillow. You raise a brow, turning back on your side. "Why can't you just tell me? Have you always been this difficult?" "Y/N, I'm hard as a rock right now. You can get out or you can watch me take care of it, I frankly don't give a flying fuck." He spits, and you feel your cheeks heat as you clear your throat. You move his arm from your waist, carefully peeling the blanket back to climb off the bed. He lets you slide over him, before his hand shoots out to grab your wrist, yanking you back onto the mattress. You yelp, your back hitting the comforter as he quickly moves to hover over you, his lips crashing onto yours. Your hands fist his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut as he carefully licks into your mouth. 

You let him cup your face gently, his thumb softly caressing your cheek in tandem with the movement of his lips. He pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips quickly before your eyes open and he's looking down at you intently.

Neither of you speak, but you both know what he wants. His eyes dart all over your face, and you feel your cheeks heat as your hand shakily moves to palm him through his sweats. His jaw clenches at the friction, his hips involuntarily rolling into your hand when he shudders.

"Only if you want to." He murmurs, and you nod slowly. "I want to. Take your pants off." He pushes off you, sitting on the edge of the bed and you take the opportunity to kneel on your rug. It's nicely padded, but he scoffs as he grabs one of the pillows and makes you move onto it. He undoes the drawstring, but your impatient hands move to his hips and you pull the sweatpants down to his knees carefully. He hisses at the feeling against his cock, but says nothing as your hand wraps around it.

Your heart is racing as you stroke him a few times, his lip tucked between his teeth as he tries not to buck into your hand. "Don't tease me, please." He breathes, and you feel your lips twitch as you lean forward, spitting on the leaking head and spreading it carefully. You lick a stripe up the underside, following the thick vein with the tip of your tongue, working your hand at the base.

He groans, leaning back on his hands as you flatten your tongue against the head. You swirl it slowly, remembering how much he liked it the few times he let you go down on him. Chan, ever the giver.

"Fuck, baby, please." His hand moves to your head, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you take him into your mouth carefully, hollowing your cheeks as you let his tip hit the back of your throat. He sighs as you start to bob your head up and down, your tongue never stopping its laving as your throat constricts around his tip slightly. You push yourself to take him deeper, your nose slightly brushing his pelvis as he lets out a guttural groan.

“Can you shut up? My parents will hear you.” You pull off entirely, a frown on your spit-slick lips as he nods quickly, mumbling a breathy sorry. He sucks in a sharp breath as you sink back down on him, his hips involuntarily jerking into your mouth, making you gag slightly. "Shit, sorry–" "Just keep doing that." Your voice is slightly raspy, his eyes wide as he swipes your hair away from your face. "A-Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you–" "Do you want to finish or not? I can get up right now." You roll your eyes as you adjust yourself on the pillow, his hand still in your hair as he stands, tonguing his cheek. "Open your mouth." You do as you're told, instinctively sticking your tongue out as he holds his shaft, a soft moan from his throat before he leans slightly. The hand in your hair moves to your jaw, before a wad of spit lands on your tongue. You feel your cheeks warm, eyes fluttering shut when you feel his tip drag across your bottom lip. His fingers gather your hair again, his voice gentle as it hits your ears. "Let me know if I'm too rough." That's all he says before you feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, hearing him let out a quiet hiss as his tip hits the back of your throat. He's slow with his movements, methodical thrusts into your mouth as your hands rest on his toned thighs, digging your nails into the sides. "Eyes open, baby. Wanna see you." His voice is hoarse as it hits your ears, your eyes slightly watery as you peer up at him through thick lashes. His lips are bitten raw as he looks into your eyes – it proves to be too much for him as you whimper around his cock in your throat. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this." You ignore the way your stomach flutters as he rolls his hips messily, thumb coming to wipe the corners of your mouth from the bubbles of spit. Your hands move up his thighs, shoving his shirt out of the way to watch the way his chiseled torso flexes as he fucks into your mouth. He whines at your touch, his grip on your hair tightening as you notice a faint tattoo on his hip. You file it to the back of your mind as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, his release spilling onto your tongue with a whimper.

You move back slightly, his fingers carding through your hair as he softly massages your scalp. "You okay?" His breath hitches in his throat as he feels your tongue on his tip. He pushes you away slightly, before his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling you off your knees. "You're fucking insatiable, you know that?" You shrug, "If you say so." He stares into your eyes for a moment, his own glazed over with a mix of lust and something you can't decipher. He leans forward a bit, brushing his lips to yours. You let out a shaky breath as he nips at them, watching your lower lip bruise slightly. "Pretty. I've always loved your lips." You roll your eyes, going to move away when he presses his lips to yours chastely. Once, twice, three times before his lips travel to your cheeks. He peppers kisses all over your face, making your nose scrunch as he pecks the tip of it.

"I'm sorry about everything yesterday." He murmurs, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. Your hands rest on either side of his hips, and you sigh. "It's whatever. Pull your pants up, what if someone comes in here?" "It's not whatever, Y/N. I hurt your feelings, and it was shitty of me to say those things. Especially when I didn't mean any of it, I was just…" "Angry?" You suggest, and he sighs as he moves to tug his sweatpants over his thighs. He ties the drawstring as he sits back down, your knees now settled on the pillow beneath you once more. "I don't know if I was angry. It's stupid, really. I shouldn't have spoken about it that way, is all. And I'm sorry." "You made me feel like I was just the first notch on your bedpost. You could've told me that was all I was to you, but it wasn't necessary. Not with the way you just started sleeping with other girls so soon after our break-up." The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and he gapes at you as you shift uncomfortably, opting to stand up. You pick the pillow up, fluffing it before tossing it onto the bed and drifting to your mirror. Your lips were a swollen mess, and you wiped at them with your hand before hearing a soft knock at the door.

You glance at Chan, who has a stoic look on his face before he stands up and answers the door. It's Rosie.

"Hey, babycakes." You call over Chan's shoulder, and he moves to the side as she waves. "Mommy told me to tell you it's time for breakfast!" "We'll be right there, pipsqueak. Ten minutes, tops." Chan smiles, and she nods excitedly, before bolting back down the hallway, screaming your estimated time of arrival. You smile to yourself as you yank open your dresser drawer, fishing out a t-shirt.

Chan's hands are on your waist as you root around, and you peer over your shoulder to see a soft glaze of tears over his eyes. Your brows raise in concern, and you twist to face him, your hands cradling his cheeks. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" "Do you ever consider how you made me feel? Or how you make me feel when you say things like that?" His voice is thick, and you feel your eyes begin to sting as your lips part. You shake your head slowly, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"Did you think about what I said last night?" He asks softly, and you avoid his eyes as you sigh, nodding your head. "You know that's not just about sex, right? That's about everything, ever. You're the only person who has ever made me feel that way." "What way? Like you need to fill a void? I get it, I'm shitty for breaking up with you on your birthday." You mutter, and he tilts your chin up to look at him. His eyes are still glossed over but hold a stern look.

"In a way that I feel like I can't fucking breathe without you. Nothing means anything to me since we broke up, but just a crumb of your attention makes me feel fucking insane. I don't think you understand how much you and your moods and the way you talk affects me. Everything about you drives me up the wall with want and need and I need you to understand that."

Your voice is lost on you, your throat constricting as he tucks your hair behind your air, thumbing at the small hoops he's never seen you without. "I look for you in every girl I've been with since. Every single one, and none of them compare. None of them are as stubborn as you are, none of them give me shit when I do something stupid. If you want to talk about sex, fine. I've never finished, not once. None of them feel the way you do, none of them kiss the way you do. Not a single one of them can I close my eyes and have their body burned in my mind, not the way I have yours. Not a single one has filled the spot you left, and I'd rather die an honest death and tell you that no one ever will if it's not you." Your lip is quivering as you look away from him, and he rests his forehead on your shoulder as your arms drop to your sides. "Please, please tell me you feel the same." You can't. You want to, you feel the ache to fill his cup until it overflows deep, deep in your stomach. But you're scared this is just for the moment, the fact that the two of you are away from any available hook-ups within a ten-mile radius. You're afraid that this is something temporary, just like the first time – but this time, with the intent of ending.

You hadn't wanted to call it quits then. You hadn't but it was the right thing to do – no matter who chastises you for it. You'd known, in your heart, that Chan was the person you are destined to love forever – whether you knew it then, drunk and high that first night in his bedroom, or in the backseat of his car, or even that time under the bleachers at a national cheer competition…it doesn't matter. Whether you knew it'd be in this pathetic way, doesn't matter. You know now.

He's looking for a good time, you tell yourself. And you may be a good time, a great time, even – but you won't do that to yourself. "It took me two years to move on." You don't recognize your own voice, thick with tears and a bitter taste in your mouth. "Two years, and you fucked Chaeyoung in your bed because you saw Minghao and I doing stunts together and got jealous for no reason. You fucked Chaeyoung and Seonmi, within an hour of each other. You didn't even wait a month."

He doesn't speak, nodding his head in silence against your shoulder as he pulls you impossibly closer. His chest is flush to yours, and you can feel his tears soak into your collar. 

"All because you didn't want your fraternity brothers to flirt with me. All of this, years of pining after you, yearning for your touch, missing you in my fucking bed, because you're a jealous asshole who can't stand the idea of not being the only guy in my life. All of this, Chan, because you wanted to say that I didn't love you when I don't think I've ever been able to think of a future with a man that isn't you."

His hands grip your sides tightly, your own pushing against his shoulders as you let a choked sob fall from your lips. His eyes are just as red as yours, his cheeks just as tear-stained as yours. Heart, just as broken and empty of you as yours is of him.

"It's not fair to me. Not when I'm still hurt, not when I can still taste you in the back of my throat. Not when you ignored me for girls and drinks, not when I called my dad in the middle of the night because you weren't home and I'm worried that you're not answering my calls. Not when my mom thinks I'm the brute here, when it's you." He nods, eyes closed as he squeezes you in his arms. He rests his forehead on yours, "They're waiting for us. Wash up quickly." Your stomach sinks, but you feel your heart pick up a bit as he places a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. "I love you." You don't say it back.

Breakfast had been awkward, to say the least. You went to the kitchen after an hour, the two of you lying through your teeth to your parents about your red-rimmed eyes. Your father gave you a hard look, and you were set to clean the table after breakfast when Mrs. Lee offered to take you Christmas shopping.

"We can make a day of it, I miss my girl." She smiled sadly, and you'd only felt your cheeks warm as Rosie insisted she come along. Mrs. Lee agreed, and even roped Chan into coming, as well – his hesitance making your eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

He'd sat on your bed as you got ready, watching you tug on a nice sweater and a form fitting pair of winter pants. It'd begun snowing lightly during breakfast, and your father had suggested you layer up – though he was sure the snow wouldn't stick. You and Chan hardly spoke as he watched you get dressed, his eyes trailing your naked body shamelessly. He helped you put on your winter coat, and carefully helped you put on your watch – a gift from his mother one year. He picked your rings, mumbling about which ones fit the aesthetic of your sweater the best. The casual intimacy of it all was eating away at you, only for Chan to run his hand through your hair and kiss your cheek.

A silent vow that he'd earn you back, you both understood.

Mrs. Lee was a chatterbox – she made Chan sit in the back with Rosie, playing with the Barbies she insisted on bringing as she updated you on everything going on at the dance company. You and Chan had been enrolled as kids, Chan becoming a far better dancer than you were – but the two of you excelled the same amount when it came to gymnastics. Chan begrudgingly abandoned dance to cheer with you in high school, but he quickly became enamored with the sport.

Rosie stomped her feet as you asked her to leave the Barbies in the car, only agreeing when Chan said it'd be a shame if she lost them. You rolled your eyes as she asked him to pick her up, but he did so anyway, her pink cast scratchy against his neck. "Rosie, you know Channie's my best friend, right?" You teased her, earning a huff from the pouty six-year-old. She stuck her tongue out at you, earning a surprised laugh from Chan as he saw her in the reflection of a car window. The wind was biting, and you found yourself hovering behind Chan. As the four of you entered the mall, Rosie asked to be put down – only for Mrs. Lee to pull her close, holding her small hand within her ringed fingers as they wandered into a toy store.

"Cold?" He asked, snaking his arm around your waist. You shrugged, but your teeth chattered as you tried to speak. The two of you laughed in unison, Chan carefully swiping your hair out of your eyes as the two of you walked forward. You try not to let your face react as he interlaces your fingers.

"Did you get your mom's gift yet? I know your dad's is in the car, and Rosie's are all in my duffel." "Shit, I knew I was forgetting one. I got your parents tickets to a cruise, I need to print those, too." You tap your temple, and Chan gasps. "I'm their son, you can't get them a better gift than me!" "What did you get them? A picture of you in a frame from the thrift like you did in grade nine?" You roll your eyes, and he huffs, squeezing your hand. "No, I got my mom a few pieces of jewelry and my dad just wants a lawnmower." He rolls his eyes, and you snicker. "What'd you get me?" "My presence is your present." "Pretty shitty present, Chan." "Hey!" The two of you continue to bicker as you make your way to a few different stores – you swipe your card far too many times for you to count. Chan carries all your bags as you skip ahead of him, holding a cup of hot chocolate for your little sister as you find Mrs. Lee filed away with her in the back of a jewelry store. "What've we got here?" You squat down to Rosie's level, and she pulls her short hair back to show you her ears. "Mrs. Lee got me earrings like yours!" A pair of thin gold hoops sit in your sister's ears, and you glance up at Mrs. Lee with a pout on your lips. "You didn't have to do that, Mrs. Lee. I would've bought them for her." "Nonsense, it's the holiday season. I have her studs in my purse, don't let me forget to give them to your mother when we get back." She gives you a stern look, before glancing behind you, a smile on her lips. "Y/N's got you busy, huh?" Chan feigns annoyance as he huffs, "You could say that. What's going on here?" You turn to tell him when you see Rosie peeking into one of the bags before you cover her eyes. "No peeking! You'll see it on Christmas, babycakes." "Just one! Please, please, please!" She holds your hand in her sticky one, likely from any snack Mrs. Lee would've bought her at one of the stands. You grimace, before sighing. "Okay, one. When we get home, okay?"

"But I'm sleepy." She pouts, and you ruffle her hair. "Then you take a little nap in the car. You can use my coat as a blanket, okay?"

The six-year-old reluctantly agrees, before reaching for the cup in your hand. Chan and Mrs. Lee prowl the store together, their eyes lingering amongst all the glittering jewelry and whispers between them as you get offered a chair by a saleswoman. You tug Rosie onto your lap and ask her about what she did – she sleepily tells you Mrs. Lee took her on the carousel ride at the children's court, then bought her a piece of honey cake at a pastry shop. She yawns as she talks about a few pairs of shoes Mrs. Lee bought her – high top Twinkle Toes and a pair of winter boots to wear as the weather changes. She doesn't manage to finish the hot chocolate as she rests her head on your shoulder, and you finish it off before managing to throw the cup into a trash bin a few feet away.

Chan and Mrs. Lee are speaking to a saleswoman at the register, her eyes a little too heart-shaped as Chan fends his mother off to swipe his card. You hold Rosie close, your eyes watching the exchange as Mrs. Lee huffs, a triumphant smile on Chan's lips as they approach you again.

"Any more places you wanna hit before we go? My fingers are about to fall off." He shows the lines from the bags across his fingers, and you shrug. "You offered, now deal with it." He scoffs, but doesn't get a chance to retort as Mrs. Lee interrupts him.

"We should get going, actually. They did say it was going to storm pretty bad tonight." Mrs. Lee winces as the saleswoman walks up to Chan with a receipt, your eyes narrowing as he quickly tucks it in his pocket. Mrs. Lee speaks up again, "Kind of an odd thing to say, though, because it's been unusually warm." "First snow always sneaks up on us on years like this." You sigh, shaking your head as the four of you walk out of the store. You pick Rosie up, holding her on your hip as Chan shifts all the bags to one hand to push your hair out of your eyes.

"You guys are so cute!" An older woman compliments you both, just as Mrs. Lee appears next to you, her eyes slightly wide as Chan tucks your hair behind your ear. His cheeks tinge pink as his mother gapes lightly, but she says nothing as you walk towards the exit. You pull Rosie's hood over her head as you reach the doors, and tug her scarf up to her eyes before bracing the cold air. "Fuck, it's cold." You hear Chan mutter as Mrs. Lee shudders, her gloved fingers fumbling with the key fob as the car comes into view. You shiver as she pops the trunk, watching Chan carefully put everything in it as Mrs. Lee slides into the driver's seat, turning the heat on blast as she turns the engine on. You carefully slide Rosie into her carseat, trying not to wake her as you click her seatbelt in place. You slide your coat off, shivering immediately in the biting wind as you cover her lap with it before shutting the door quickly. 

Chan's eyes are wide as he sees you crossing your arms over your chest, your scarf the only layer protecting your neck as he nearly rips his coat off and wraps it around you. "Are you insane? Do you want to get sick?" He doesn't let you reply as he ushers you to the passenger side, nearly shoving you into the seat and all but slamming the door. He closes the trunk before getting into the backseat, his nose red from the cold. You glance at him through the rearview, watching him blow into his hands as he meets your eyes. He looks at you pointedly as Mrs. Lee pulls out of the parking spot.

You look away.

"So." Because your mother is at her restaurant editing the holiday menus and Chan has taken the rest of the day to spend time with his cousins, you've asked Mrs. Lee to help you pick out your Christmas Eve dinner dress. She is sitting at your desk as you model options for her, the current cranberry red dress a bit too short for her taste. You frown as you change in the closet, "So, what? What's up?" "When are you and Channie going to figure this out? I mean, it's been years." She sighs, and you hear her rustle through one of the shopping bags. You step out to see her holding the dress you bought for New Years' dinner, the black glitter mocking you as you sigh. "I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Lee." You smooth your hands over a forest green sweater dress with gold accents, before turning to her. "This one?" "You know what I mean, honey. There is still something between the two of you, don't think I didn't see the way he practically tore his coat off earlier." She shakes her head at you, and you scoff. "That doesn't mean anything, he's just a gentleman." "Yeah? Then what was last night's outburst about?"

You freeze, your hands fisting the dress as you go to pull it over your head. She peers at you through the full-body mirror, her eyes so reminiscent of Chan's. You purse your lips, looking away and at your socked feet as you slowly make your way over to her. You perch on the edge of your bed, "I don't want you to think less of me." Her hands hold your cheeks gently as you feel a tear roll down your face, her eyes wide and worried as she shakes her head. "Honey, I could never. You're such a smart and wonderful young woman, and you've always treated my Chan so well. You've been his biggest hypewoman, I could never think anything but the best of you." "I was the one who broke up with him, on his birthday." You say shakily, "I didn't remember it was his birthday, but that's on me. I just…I thought I was doing the right thing. I broke things off because I wanted us to focus on school. We were so busy after we went back from break that we didn't see each other unless we were at practice, and it was eating away at me." You wipe your eyes, Mrs. Lee's hands now folded in her lap as she listens. "No one can be upset with you for doing what you felt was best, honey." "Chan was." You scoff out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you sniffle. "He still is, I guess. We got home and we sat down in here for a bit, and we talked. He said that maybe it was better this way, that things had always been 'easy' between him and I, that involving feelings wasn't the best move. That our relationship was a dumpster fire, and that he's glad we got it out of our systems because he wishes it never happened sometimes. That he…felt like I didn't love him." You trail off, feeling a surge of tears roll down your face as you wipe at your nose with your sweater sleeve. You glance at her, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tilts her head. "And he moved on. I didn't. So…I don't know if it's fixable. I'm sorry to disappoint you, if you thought Chan and I would be something of a forever as anything more than just friends." You give her a sad smile, and she quietly sighs.

"He called me a few days after his birthday that year, you know." She nods, looking at her nails before she flicks her hair out of her face. Your eyes widen as you sit up slightly, "He did?" "He was a mess." She laughed softly, running her hands down her jeans. "He cried and cried, I remember asking him if he wanted me to go up to the campus. I was so worried about him, until he told me that you two weren't seeing each other anymore. Just a boy needing his mother because the girl of his dreams broke his heart." Her voice is slightly teasing, but your heart sinks. "What?" "Oh yeah, honey. Channie's not very good at hiding his feelings, we knew he liked you since you were kids. We figured it would take him a bit to realize it, but once you two came home for the holidays that year, it was like he was a different person. He walked in with so much confidence, not that he needed anymore." She snorts, and you laugh softly. "He just seemed happier, a lot brighter. Like he does when he dances." You feel your chest ache as you look away, her hands finding yours. "I know that in there, somewhere…there is a love waiting to be let loose again. I know maybe then, it was the right thing to do. I know you wouldn't have done it if you didn't think you had to, I've known your heart since you were a little girl. I know it's kind and strong and you're a good person, Y/N. Don't think about it too much, I know you've both felt that pain but trust me when I say, there is no life without pain. All I can tell you is to live without regrets." She squeezes your hands, and you sigh shakily, your eyes still letting tears flow. "What if we break up again?" "Then you can always say you tried." She shrugs, "You're Y/N, he's Chan. If I know anything, it's that you're both hard headed and you never give up on anything. Why make your relationship the first thing?" She gives you a warm smile as you nod, and she glances at the sweater you have on. "Maybe not this one, either." She wrinkles her nose, and you scoff in mock offense. "I've tried everything on in my closet! Why don't you pick something for me, then?" She grins as she gets up, skipping to your closet and rustling about. You check your phone, seeing a few missed messages from Chan.

Msg From: Chan 💗 [5:33PM] dude these guys SUCK [5:34PM] come hang out with me :( [5:34PM] i'm sick of this shit, soonyoung keeps making spitballs?? are we fucking thirteen??

You snort, watching as Mrs. Lee drapes a few options over her arm. Msg To: Chan 💗 [5:55PM] can't, hanging out with ur mom [5:56PM] do you want to take a drive later? i think the temp went back up a bit and it's not as windy

Msg From: Chan 💗 [5:57PM] oh so you hate me??? you get her tickets to a cruise AND you're hanging out with her? do you just wanna paint me as a bad son??? [5:57PM] i'd say yes but i don't think i'll be back until right before dinner :( but tomorrow after dinner at your mom's restaurant? maybe we can catch a late movie or something.

You don't get a chance to reply as Mrs. Lee whispers a small aha! She rustles around a bit more before coming out with only one dress, one you hadn't worn since you bought it because you never had an occasion. It was a long, champagne colored dress with a sarong skirt and long sleeves. The skirt was carefully ruched at the hip, before flaring out in an open slit. It had a sweetheart neckline littered with rhinestones, and you winced as you ran your fingers down the fabric.

"It's not too showy for dinner? We're just going to the restaurant." You sigh, thumbing the stitching. Mrs. Lee scoffed, "Your mother has worn far more extravagant things than this, do you remember when she wore a ball gown to New Year's last year?" You snort, thinking back to the way you hide your face as you walked into the Lee home last year. Chan made a comment under his breath about how insane the baby blue dress was, but everyone was more or less a fan. 

You also remember the way his hand slid a little too low on your back that year as rang in the new year with a hug.

Looking up at Mrs. Lee, she gives you a mischievous smile. "Go on, try it on! And we can do some hair and makeup stuff before we have to have dinner!"

Needless to say, your mother did a double take when she arrived home and saw that you were fully dolled up at the hands of Mrs. Lee. Her jaw dropped as she took in the wine red lipstick you stole from her bedroom and glittery eyeshadow, before a huge smile overtook her face and she rushed into your room to talk. It holed you away in the bedroom for another hour and a half before you graciously kicked both women out for just thirty minutes alone before dinner.

You stood in front of your vanity, dress hung back up your closet and a sigh filled the room as you reached for a makeup wipe. You peered at yourself, Mrs. Lee's words filled your mind as you ran your hands through your hair. Pursing your lips, you tie your hair back before hearing a knock at the door, and Chan opens it slightly.

"Hey. I'm home." He's not looking at you as he tugs his coat off, a sigh from his lips as you quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't sound very happy." "I'm just tired, I don't remember what it was like to shoot the shit with those guys." He scoffs, throwing his jacket over the back of your desk chair before sitting in it. His eyes widen as he finally looks at you, "You look pretty." "Thanks. Mothers." You shrug, before reaching for the makeup wipe you abandoned in order to tie your hair back. "Wait, wait, let me see." He reaches for your hand, pulling you towards him. You roll your eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed, your other hand on your knee as he looks at your face.

"Why haven't you ever worn this lipstick before? It looks really nice." His thumb pulls at your lower lip, before you swat his hand away. "Stop that, someone could walk in." "Then lock the door? I'm just looking at you." He rolls his eyes as he stretches, "Did you figure out what you're wearing tomorrow?" "Barely. I'm still overthinking it, but the Moms said to go for it so…we're going for it." You shrug, and he raises a brow. "Do you want to show me? Maybe a third opinion could help settle it." "Nope." You grin, before standing up to move back in front of the vanity. His hold on your hand pulls you back, his other hand snaking around your waist as he pulls you into his lap. You huff as he kisses your shoulder, "Chan. Seriously."

"I missed you." He pouts, leaning his cheek on your shoulder as you roll your eyes. "Yeah, well…" You trail off, your cheeks heating as he smiles up at you. He's about to say something when you hear a knock at the door, making you jump in his hold. You rip yourself away from him, nearly stumbling as you rip the door open. It's Rosie.

"Ooh, you look pretty! Can I try?" She hops into your room, puckering her lips as she looks into your vanity. You snort, "Hello to you, too. Do you come with a message or just demands?" "Dinner in ten minutes. Can I try now?" She jumps in front of the mirror, and you roll your eyes as you motion for Chan to hand you your makeup bag off the edge of the desk. He does, and you root around in it for the lipstick, pulling out a lip brush as well. You squat in front of her, "This is Mom's lipstick, okay? We can only use a little bit." She nods, letting you carefully trace the brush around her lips. You turn her around in the mirror when you're done, lifting her up slightly. "You like?" "I like!" She smacks her lips loudly, and you smile inwardly as you set her down. "Can I wear this tomorrow, too?" "If you ask Mom and she says yes, we can talk about it." You shrug, and she nods quickly, before grinning at herself in the mirror one last time. "Okay, bye! Thank you!" "Bye, babycakes." You laugh, closing the door as she runs out. You give Chan a glance, rolling your eyes as you reach for the makeup wipe. "Gotta love that kid." "Don't take it off." He pouts, standing up to slide next to you in the mirror. You scoff, "Why? You're just gonna stare at me over dinner and everyone's gonna think something that isn't." He huffs, resting his chin on your shoulder as you carefully wipe at your eyes. You peel one open, seeing him pouting in the mirror. You struggle not to roll your eyes as you turn your face to look at him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Stop pouting, it's not a good look on you." His eyes are wide as you continue to wipe the makeup off, his hand coming to ghost over your jaw as he makes you face him. "I missed you." He repeats, before nuzzling his nose against yours. Your breath hitches in your throat as his lips brush yours, before he whispers against them.

"I love you."

And just like this morning, you let him. You let him slot your lips together in a tentative kiss, your heart beating wildly in your chest as he turns you around, pressing your back into the vanity. His hands move to hold your hips gently, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your shirt as he pulls away. He doesn't move back much, brushing his lips against yours as he squeezes his fingers against you softly.

"Will you at least let me try to win you back?" You feel your skin grow hot as you look away, and your heart flutters in your chest as he cradles your face softly in his warm hands. He presses a kiss to your forehead, "Please?" You want to tell him there is nothing to win back, you'd always be there. If time was the issue, you'd wait – no problem. But there is that part of you that's hurt that wants him to fight for you. The part of you that wants him to beg for you back, the part of you that wants him to hold you tight and cry with you about how stupid he's been when you've been equally as stupid. Maybe in a different way, but you're both idiots in your mind.

You look into his eyes through thick lashes, the heat of his gaze making you want to melt into the ground. Chan, despite the history between you two and his bad habits, had always been both the angel and the devil on your shoulders. He could lead you down any path and you'd blindly follow, but you knew you were the same for him. The truth of it all was that your trust in Chan has never wavered, even when the pain of his actions settled into your bones.

"Okay." "Promise?" His eyes are wide as he holds his pinky out, and you sigh, closing your eyes as you nod and link your fingers. "Promise." You both kiss your thumbs and touch them to each other, before you wipe the stamped lipstick off his cheek. "Don't tell your parents anything or I'll get Soonyoung and Mingyu to put snow down your pants tomorrow." He rolls his eyes, "You still haven't let me introduce you to them, so good luck. I wasn't going to tell them in the first place, anyway, because they'd make me go to my room after Dumb and Dumber go back into town tomorrow afternoon. I still can't believe they didn't ask for the holidays off."

You roll your eyes, moving the makeup wipe to your lips as he traces circles into the skin of your hip under your shirt. "Double pay, probably. My mom is shelling out double pay at the restaurant these next few weeks." He hums in response, "Did my mom say anything I should know about?" You snort, "Wouldn't you like to know." "I would, thank you. Tell me." "I have to wash my face, Chan." You give him a pointed look as you push past him, moving to your bathroom as he sighs, trailing after you. "Okay, you can wash your face and speak." "Chan, get out of my bathroom. They're probably waiting for you at the dinner table." "If they're waiting for me, they're waiting for you." He reminds you, leaning against the doorframe. You huff, reaching for your face wash as you turn the faucet on. "Go. I'll be out in a minute." He sighs, before pushing off the doorframe and leaving without a word. You feel your chest heavy with worry as you lather your face wash into your skin, but you force yourself to push all your rushing thoughts to the back of your mind. If Chan is making the moves to make things right, you have to at least give him his flowers for that. He wouldn't pull a fast one on you, he's not that kind of guy.

Right?

DECEMBER 24, 6:05AM.

Dinner between the two families had been rather entertaining. Your mother was enamored with the earrings Mrs. Lee got for Rosie, and the parents discussed carpooling groups for the Christmas Eve dinner at your mother's restaurant. You and Chan would be the only ones not lumped into your father's SUV, and you couldn't help the way you glanced at Chan with a wince. He had a slight grimace on his face as he agreed quietly, the two of you holding up the façade of your fight so as to not make anything obvious. He snuck a few kisses to your lips as the two of you did the dishes, before the two of you turned in for the night. You showered and brushed your teeth, only to have to wait for Chan because you kicked him out of the bathroom before he could offer to save water by showering together. He'd pouted, but it didn't matter. There was a line you couldn't cross…and that's it, right?

Either way – Chan had pulled your back into his chest at some point throughout the night, not that you were complaining. Yesterday morning's shenanigans seemed to have continued – but this time, his hand was up your shirt as he grinded himself against your clothed cunt, nipping his teeth against the skin of your neck. You were about to turn over to kiss him when you heard the heavy knock of your father's hand on the door. You nearly shoved Chan off the bed with how quickly you sat up and jumped over him, answering the door with a flushed look.

"Dad, don't do that! I nearly shit myself." You hold your hand to your chest, and your father holds out two cups of coffee. "You have a shower, you'd survive." "Don't be gross." You grimace, carefully taking the cups and setting them down on the dresser. Chan sits up, eyes squinted as he stretches his arms over his head. "Good morning, Chan." "Good morning, sir." He mumbles, before running his hands over his face. Your father gives you a quizzical glance, seeing your eyes a bit low as he snorts. "You guys might want to wake up, the snow outside is insane and Rosie will want you guys to help her build a snowman." "You can't help her? It's barely six." You rub at your eyes with the heels of your palms as your father smooths your hair down. "I'll give you an hour." "Two hours." Chan groans from the bed, flopping back down and tugging the duvet over his shoulder. You snort, taking a quick sip from the steaming white mug. You crinkle your nose at the bitter taste, only to hear your father laugh softly. "Hour and a half. Deal?" "Deal." You nod tiredly, and he nods as he moves to shut your door. "Set an alarm, or I'm coming in here with pots and pans."

You only nod again, holding the coffee cup to your lips as he shuts it tightly. Looking over your shoulder, you see Chan sitting up on his elbows, a scowl on his lips. "Seriously?" "It's the holiday season and they haven't seen us all year, it's only normal that they want to spend time with us." You roll your eyes as you set down your cup, sliding back under the covers as he grunts. "They can't wait until the sun comes up for that? I love our families, but I don't wanna be outside in subzero temps." "It's not even subzero, dumbass. It's like, seventeen degrees out." You rest your head on your pillow, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Subzero or seventeen, it's still the asscrack of dawn." "Never too early to have your hand up my shirt though, is it?" You say pointedly, and he scoffs as you shift uncomfortably in your sticky shorts. "So if I pull your shorts down, you won't be wet? You weren't complaining." "I never said that, but you're complaining about it being the asscrack of dawn yet you're feeling me up in your pretend sleep." You shake your finger in his face, making him sigh as he lays on his side. "Sometimes I just like touching you, okay? It doesn't always have to end in something, baby." "You mean you like riling me up so I'll be the one to pounce. You're not slick, I know your tricks." You drape his arm over your waist as you face away from him, feeling his lips brush the shell of your ear. "So should I continue or are you going to play hard to get?" "You know, you just reminded me to shove snow down your pants. Maybe then you'll calm down."

He scoffs, pressing a kiss just under your ear before pulling you closer to him. You nestle into his warmth, feeling his hand slip under your shirt. He doesn't move it, his thumb caressing just above your navel as his breathing slows. You close your eyes, but not feeling the thick veil of sleep creeping up on you. Huffing, you turn on your back, making Chan stir slightly but he says nothing. You stare at the ceiling, the early morning sun barely peeking in through your blinds. 

"You're thinking too loud."

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you snort. "Sorry, did my thinking disturb you?" "Go back to sleep, we're not going to get a chance to rest until after dinner." He sighs, before you roll onto your side to face him. "I can't."

He hums, opening his eyes with a sigh. "Better start trying, baby. It's been like twenty minutes since your dad left." 

Rolling your eyes, you shift lower to press your face into his stomach. His hand cards through your hair gently, his fingertips grazing the skin of your neck as they dip below the collar of your shirt. "Comfortable?" "It's alright." You retort, making him laugh quietly. "Just alright?" "You don't need your head to grow any bigger, Lee." "Humor me, will you?"

"Never." You huff, fisting the material of his sweatshirt. His breathing slows once more, but yours still can't match his. Frustration festers in your stomach, and you find yourself tracing circles into his sweatshirt before pushing it up slightly, bunching it around his ribcage. Your fingers make contact with his warm skin, drawing shapes into it with your dull fingernails when you feel him softly tug at your hair.

"Don't start something you can't finish, baby."

You scoff, your breath warm against his skin. "Shut up." He only hums, your fingers continuing their tracing when you find yourself pressing your lips to his skin softly. Once, twice, three times as you move around his slim waist. He shifts slightly, a shaky sigh falling from his lips as you nip at the skin around his navel. Your palm pushes his hip down until he gets the hint, moving to lie on his back as you push his sweatshirt higher. Your thighs rest on his as you straddle him, and you feel the outline of his cock against the soaked fabric of your shorts.

You can feel his eyes on you as your tongue pokes out from between your lips, licking a stripe up his sternum before pressing a kiss between his pecs. You pepper kisses across his chest, feeling his breathing ragged beneath your wandering hands. Your thumb lightly ghosts over his right nipple, and you feel him jolt beneath you.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He groans, making you smirk against his skin as you flick the tip of your tongue against his nipple, his hands flying to your hips to hold you steady. "Baby." "Stare at the ceiling or something, stop interrupting me." You shrug, before pulling his sweatshirt higher. "Take this off." He obliges, nearly ripping the piece of clothing over his head before sitting up slightly, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a searing kiss. You let out a squeak of surprise, his tongue snaking into your mouth at the opportunity. Your hand snakes up his torso, your fingers pinching lightly at one of his nipples. His hips jerk roughly against you, a moan spilling into your mouth as you pull away quickly, clamping your hand over his lips with a scowl.

"Shut the fuck up! Do you want them to hear you?"

He licks your palm, making you grimace as you wipe it on his shoulder, his hand on your neck pulling you back down to his lips. "I don't give a fuck who hears me as long as you're the one making me sound like this."

"Yeah, well I have shame. Shut your mouth before I put something in it." You snip, but his other hand snaps the waistband of your shorts against your hip. "Yeah? You'll shut me up?" "You're a sick freak." You scoff, shoving yourself off him. "Go lock the door."

His eyes widened as you began to undo the drawstring of your shorts, your thumbs sliding under the waistband with a pointed look. "Hello? Lock the fucking door, Chan." He nearly falls off the bed getting out of the sheets, making you snicker to yourself as you shove your shorts down your legs. You ignore the few strings of arousal connecting you to the ruined cotton and the way the cool air of your bedroom makes you wince, reaching for your phone as Chan slides back into the bed. 

7:15am.

"We only have fifteen minutes." You flick your shorts to the side as you move back over Chan, his eyes wide as he glances at them. "Baby." He breathes, holding them up by the waistband.

"Shut up, I'm ovulating or something." You roll your eyes as a blush coats your cheeks, making him snort. "Or something? Just admit you like it when I feel you up in my 'pretend' sleep." He makes air quotes with his fingers, making you scowl as you take the shorts from his hand.

"Open your mouth, since you can't stop running it." He sticks his tongue out at you, before happily opening his mouth. You stuff the crotch of the shorts into his mouth, ignoring the way his eyes flutter at the taste makes your core clench around nothing. You try not to look at him as you settle yourself onto his chiseled torso, the same faint tattoo mocking you as you try to figure it out. Biting your lip, you gently rolling your hips against him, the feeling of the hard muscle against your clit enough to make your legs tremble slightly. He groans around the shorts, his hands moving up your thighs as you grind down against his stomach.

With every rut of your cunt against his lower stomach, you can feel his painfully hard cock poking the meat of your ass. You ignore the way he winces every time, moaning softly around the soaked shorts as his hands move higher on your thighs, his grip only making you whine. It's not long before his stomach is covered in your arousal, your whimpers filling his ears as he covers your mouth with his hand before taking the shorts out of his mouth.

"I can make you cum faster than this." He whines as your thumbs circle around his nipples, but you roll your eyes, "I like it this way." "I know b-baby, but I'm two seconds from blowing in my pants." He sighs shakily as you move his hand from your mouth, pinning it above his head. Your lips brush against his as you lean forward, looking into his glossy eyes. "I'm not fucking you, you have to earn that." "Sit on my face." He breathes against your lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of them as you shake your head. "We won't have enough time–" "Two minutes, you know me." He begs, weaseling his arm out of your grip to push you up his torso as you huff. "Chan, it's risky–" "Everything about our entire relationship has been risky, why stop now?" He whispers, and you look at him to see a slightly dejected look in his eyes. He wants to please you, you know he does – and you want him to make it up to you. All those lonely nights missing his face between your thighs like a starved man, all the useless vibrators that got you nowhere near the orgasms he pulled out of you. "Make it fast." You mutter, moving to kneel over his face. He nods silently, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he pulls you down, his nose bumping your clit and making you jerk. "Chan!"

"Shh, baby." He murmurs, nosing at your pussy like a dog after a bone. "You smell so fucking good, missed this." 

You squirm as he places a kiss on your clit, your fingers holding onto the metal headboard for stability as he flicks his tongue against it teasingly. He moans into your wet heat, his pouty lips wrapping around your sensitive bud as you force yourself to swallow your whines, rocking your hips against his face, feeling your end coming embarrassingly fast.

"Chan." You breathe out, reaching down to pull at his hair as he furrows his brows, his tongue messily collecting your arousal with soft grunts. "Mmh?" You don't say anything, hoping he just knows what you mean as you let a whine slip, your thighs tightening around his head. He forces them apart, using his strength to grind you against his tongue. You're a whimpering mess above him, your thighs trembling as you fall forward against the headboard. You're gripping the metal with your hands as you come undone with a whisper of his name, feeling your stomach cave in as he keeps licking at you.

A knock at the door makes him stop (and you jerk), his arms holding you firmly against him as he clears his throat. "Yes?" "Are you guys up? Why is this door locked?" It's your mother, and she jiggles the doorknob as Chan laughs, lying on the spot. "I'm sorry, I'm changing! Y/N is about to get in the shower, she'll be out in twenty minutes, I promise." "Tell Y/N to wear leggings under her pants, it's freezing out there." She's not suspicious, and Chan gives you a look of relief as he answers. "Will do! Thank you!" "You're welcome!" The two of you sit in silence as you wait a few moments, before you feel Chan's tongue snake through your folds. You try to push off his face, but your legs feel like jelly as he fucks the tip of his tongue into you. "S-Stop, we have to go." "I bought us twenty minutes, gorgeous. Let me do what I gotta do." He mutters, practically making out with your clit as you squirm away. "Chan, we have to get up." He sighs, his hands massaging your thighs. "Can never relax, hm?" "Be so fucking serious." You scoff, mustering all your energy to get off his face. He watches as you lay on your stomach with a groan, "I can't even get up. Fuck you, man." "Please do. I never want to cum in my pants again, this shit feels so gross." He grimaces, sitting up and running his hands over your thighs, digging his thumbs into the sore muscles. You peek at his pants, your fingers coming to lift the waistband when he swats your fingers. 

"Come on, we have to shower or they won't buy it."

"Any time I've showered with you, you've tried to slide your dick between my asscheeks. I don't trust you." You snort, and he only lands a soft smack to your outer thigh. "It's a wonderful ass, can you blame me? But, for the sake of time and your so-called shame, I'll skip out on it." "Ugh, fine."

Chan stays true to his word, the ten-minute shower consisting of nothing but soft kissing under the showerhead and soapy hands sliding around naked bodies. Him finishing in his pants isn't a lie, either – and you apologize by letting him tongue at your nipples for two minutes. Every touch landing where it's not supposed to, pulling soft whines from each other as tongues slipped from mouths to collarbones before he reminded you that you couldn't mark each other above the neck if you wanted to remain undiscovered.

Chan toweled his hair dry and got changed quickly to appease your awaiting parents, but didn't leave the bathroom without a kiss…or three, to your lips. He lingered a bit as you dried your hair, a warm smile on his face as he watched your scrunched face in the mirror – when you caught his eye. "What?" "I love you." 

He doesn't wait for you to respond, only tucking his coat under his arm as he exits your bedroom. You pretend it doesn't make your knees weak as you pull two pairs of leggings on, and your snow pants. You pretend it doesn't fill your stomach with butterflies as you tug on two pairs of socks and your heavy boots. You pretend it doesn't make your cheeks warm as you pull on one of his t-shirts under your sweater, and you pretend it doesn't make you tingle with excitement as you shove on your coat and tuck your scarf under your chin. You slip out of your bedroom with your lip balm in your hand, only to see Mrs. Lee and your mother scolding Chan as he sits in one of the dining room chairs, your mother's hair dryer blowing hot air in his face. He's wincing as they let him have it, a pout on his lips as he sees you. "Tell them you hogged the hairdryer!" He begs, making you smirk. "I'd be lying, wouldn't I?" You reach out to ruffle his hair, sticking your tongue out at him as you make your way to the kitchen. You see Rosie and your father holding hot packs to their faces, your little sister's nose red from the cold. "Have fun out there, babycakes?" You ask, leaning on the island with a smile as she nods quickly. "Mingyu and Soonyoung helped me make a snowman! You and Channie have to help me, too. It has to be bigger!" "You met Mingyu and Soonyoung already? I haven't even met them!" You feign offense as she nods, your father rolling his eyes. "If you had been up earlier, Chan could've given you a proper introduction." "I was not going to be up at six in the morning to make a snowman, I'm sorry." You shrug, before checking your watch. "It's only eight, how are you guys so chipper?" "We don't have to wash all the dishes after supper. So I guess you're off the hook for not being up earlier." Your mother snorts from the kitchen entrance, a red-cheeked Chan following behind her. He sticks his tongue out at you, making you snort. "Nice hair, man." "Shut up." He rolls his eyes, and your mother sighs as she slides two plates of breakfast food in front of you. "Eat up, we've got a busy morning." You and Chan glance at each other, knowing she means that the entire family has to work to tire Rosie out enough that she takes a nap sooner rather than later. If she goes down later, everyone will be late for Christmas Eve dinner.

Which will make your mother very upset, and God forbid you make your mother upset during the holiday season!

You and Chan practically scarf your breakfast down as Rosie excitedly recounts how Mingyu and Soonyoung kept fighting over what carrot would make the best nose for her snowman. She smiles cutely as she holds up a carrot your father was holding, "But I saved the best one for our snowman, guys!" Your heart melts as she says that, your lip jutting out in a pout as you shovel the last of your waffles into your mouth. You take your plate and Chan's to the sink as she continues speaking, careful not to get your sleeves wet as you wash them quickly. Chan dries them as she gets to the part where Mingyu spit a raisin at Soonyoung, making you choke on your water. Rosie stops mid-story, tugging your father out of the kitchen – insisting she was all warmed up and ready to go back outside. "Save me!" Your father mouths as he allows your little sister to drag him out, making you snicker to yourself. Chan slides the plate into the cupboard, running the rag around the sink basin as the kitchen grows quiet. You swallow the last of your water, only to feel Chan's fingers on your jaw.

"Just a quick one." He utters quietly, his eyes darting to the entryway as you roll your eyes, pecking a chaste kiss onto his lips. He can't help but hold you in place, kissing you again slowly when you hear the door open. You push him away, sliding your empty glass onto the island as Mr. Lee yells into the house. "Get out here!" You both nearly trip over each other trying to exit the kitchen, Mr. Lee shoving two pairs of gloves in your hands as he shoves the two of you out. Chan shivers next to you, looping his arm with yours as you carefully make your way off your porch. You tug the gloves on, giving him the other pair as you brave the winter air.

"It's colder than a witch's tits." You hear someone say, and your head whips around to see two guys sitting in two folding chairs next to an abomination of a snowman, holding cups of coffee between ungloved fingers. Chan rolls his eyes as he tugs you towards them, their eyes averting to you and the one with blond hair nearly spits his coffee out.

"Don't be fucking weird, okay?" Chan says, and the blond one scoffs. "You didn't say she was a fucking bombshell, Chan!" "Maybe because it's none of your business if she is or isn't! She'd never date you, anyway." Chan pulls you close suddenly, and you smile sheepishly at the two men.

"Hi, Y/N." The brunet smiles at you, his eyes trailing you a bit too long for Chan's liking. "Don't look at his teeth, that's how he gets you." Chan covers your eyes with his hand, making you scoff as you pull it down.

"Don't be a baby, Chan." You roll your eyes, before extending your gaze to the men. "It's nice to meet you guys. Who is who?" "Mingyu." The blond one points at the brunet, who points back at him. "Soonyoung, resident idiot.' "Hey!" Soonyoung shoves him, making Mingyu snort. "It's the truth, Rosie made him eat a disk of snow with raisins on it."

You laugh as Chan sulks, making you pinch his cheek and coo. "Don't be jealous, Channie. As long as neither of them is taller than you–" "Suddenly, I need to stretch." Soonyoung says with a grin, and Mingyu rolls his eyes as Soonyoung tugs him up. Soonyoung is only two inches taller, but you find yourself whistling lowly at Mingyu's height.

"You're huge, dude." You look up at him, earning a huff from Chan. Mingyu smiles around the rim of his cup, shrugging as he takes a sip. "You're not the first to say that, but I can fit you in my schedule if you'd like to see what else is big." "Dude, no fair. He doesn't wash his socks, you know." Soonyoung scowls, making you snort. "Yeah? What about you, Soonie?" "Enough! We're out here to build a snowman that's better than your absolute monstrosity, not for you two to hit on my best friend until I vomit!" Chan stomps his foot like a toddler, and you laugh, patting his chest. "Chan, buddy, reign it in! Go get Rosie." He looks hesitant as his cousins make eyes at you. There's a pout on his lips as you pinch his cheek again, whispering in his ear. "Be a good boy and fetch, yeah?"

He should be embarrassed at how quickly his cheeks tinge pink at your words, ignoring his cousins' teasing as he turns on his heel to find Rosie. He watches from his peripheral as they joke with you, how easily they make you laugh and how you fit right in with the duo. His heart warms a bit at the idea of his extended family liking you so quickly, but the idea quickly gets shoved aside as he remembers how flirtatious and greasy his cousins can be. The next two hours are spent with Mingyu and Soonyoung calling you pretty and cute to bother Chan, and you instigating the compliments to get under his skin. Rosie got tired halfway through building the snowman, and made you promise you wouldn't finish it without her. She gave you the carrot for safekeeping, making you tuck it into your jacket pocket as your father hauled her into the house. Your mother and Mrs. Lee made a quick trip down to the restaurant, and your father and Mr. Lee opted to salt the driveways and sidewalks for the dinner trip later that day.

Chan? He's tonguing his cheek as he packs snow in his hand, hearing Mingyu call you gorgeous as you take a sip from his cup of coffee. He chucks it in his direction, hitting Mingyu square in the shoulder. Mingyu stops talking as he feels the impact, his jaw dropping as he sees the snow sliding off the leather of his thick jacket. He wipes the snow off his jacket with a boyish grin, and your eyes widen as Soonyoung quickly throws a snowball at Chan – who dodges it and lands one of his own on Soonyoung's chest.

You snort to yourself as the trio begin to throw snowballs of various sizes between each other, opting to settle in Mingyu's folding chair with your legs crossed. You hold his cup of coffee, before calling out to the men. "Whoever wins gets to help me pin Chan down and shove snow down his pants!" Mingyu smirks, running his tongue over his teeth as he zeros in on Chan – who is gaping at you. "Oh, come on! That's not fucking fair!" "Good luck!" You hold up Mingyu's cup, tilting it towards them as the two men begin to chase after Chan, who has a hefty head start as he hides behind your father's SUV before hopping the fence to your backyard. Your dad snorts as he salts the sidewalk you're sitting on, "You're awful to that boy, you know." "A little snow down the pants never killed anyone." You retort, making him shake his head. "How're Mingyu and Soonyoung? Nice fellas, eh?" "If you count them flirting with me to piss Chan off nice, I'd say so." You grin, and he rolls his eyes. "You're something else, honey. Just talk to the kid." "I do talk to him, Dad. Trust me, I talk. He just doesn't listen." Rolling your eyes, you hear something reminiscent of a battle cry when you see Chan pelting Mingyu and Soonyoung with snowballs as he whizzes past you and your father, making you both double over in laughter as they round the corner into the next neighborhood. It fades to quiet for a moment, before you hear yet another shriek, followed by a fuck yeah!

You and your father look up to see Mingyu holding Chan over his shoulder, thrashing in order to free himself. Soonyoung throws his scarf around Mingyu's waist, effectively tying Chan's legs to the bigger man. Chan slumps against Mingyu, and you almost feel bad as your father shakes his head at you, "Not too much snow, Y/N. Be considerate." "You got it, boss!" You call after him as he shuffles into the house, and Mingyu grins as he presents Chan to you, turning around to show you the defeated pout on his face. "You hate me, Y/N. You hate me and you're going to freeze my dick off with a chunk of snow." "I could never hate you, Channie. But, I do want you to suffer just a bit." You smirk, and he sighs. "Put me down!" "Will you run?" You take a sip of the cup, and Chan's eyes flash with jealousy. "No. But you can't use more than a snowball's worth of snow. Promise me." He holds his pinky out, and you wait until Soonyoung turns around to grab his coffee to peck his cheek. He flushes, but you can just barely tell under his wind-bitten skin. "No promises, Channie." Mingyu manages to wrestle his arms behind his back, Soonyoung just teasing Chan as they all watch you gather snow in your gloved hands. Chan whines pitifully in Mingyu's hold as you approach with a decent amount of snow in your hands and an evil smile on your face.

"Y/N, please. I'll beg, I will! Don't do this–" Your best friend squirms in Mingyu's arms, and you make kissy faces at him as your hand pulls at his waistband. The flannel lining is stark red against the white snow, and Chan braces himself as you press a shameless kiss to his forehead.

"Y/N, don't! I'll buy your breakfast for a month! I won't ever drop you during practice again, baby please–fuck!" Chan thrashes against Mingyu as the snow slides down his legs, having foolishly only worn the snow pants over his boxers. "Oh you fucking hate me, oh my God! Let me go!" He frees himself from Mingyu, who can barely hold himself up from laughing as Chan shakes the snow out of his pants, jumping around like a frog to warm himself up. "Go get in the shower before you get frostbite on your balls!" Soonyoung calls after him as he races into your house, making you snort as you finish off the last of Mingyu's coffee.

"Love that guy, he's so easy to torture." You roll your eyes as you take Mingyu's chair once more, earning a warm look from Mingyu. "How long did you guys date back then? He only told us so much." You shrug, "Couple months. A really good two months, but…just the two."

You toy with the cup, before Soonyoung sighs. "He's a good kid. Please don't break his heart again, I don't think he can take it." He rubs his neck, and Mingyu nods, kicking snow off his boot. "It's funny that we've never met you until now, Chan has talked about you as long as he's been able to."  The statement makes you snort. "Yeah, well. Chan's a jealous guy, that's how we even started dating in the first place. He didn't like that his frat brothers were making eyes at me when I helped him move in, but I guess he just never understood that…" You trail off, clearing your throat when Soonyoung finishes your sentence. "Understood that he's the only one for you?" He tries, and you sigh, nodding. "Yeah." "That's cute. Like, so cute. Adorable, even." Mingyu teases, and you lightly punch his shoulder. "Shut up." "I always thought Chan would end up with you. The amount of times we'd have to kick him off the Playstation because he'd talk about you instead of playing his turn was insane." Soonyoung scoffs, taking a sip from his cup. "I think I've heard your favorite color at least eighty times in my lifetime, tell me it's still green." "It is still green, ha." You smile shyly, and Mingyu lies down in the snow, staring at the sky. "Well, it's nice to know Chan has someone who clearly cares. I know you guys broke up because of school, right? Too busy and all that." "I felt so overwhelmed. We broke up and he made the fucking Dean's list, I was crushed when I didn't. Then again, Chan's always been better at masking how he feels when it comes to…things between us." Shrugging, you feel the heat of Soonyoung's gaze.

"Finding out about all those girls must've gotten to you, huh? He was an idiot, I told him he was when he talked to me about it. He cried, too. Dumbass." Soonyoung rolls his eyes, and your own widen. "He cried? Why?" "He told me two years ago, I think it was summer. I came up here, but you'd gone to a cheer camp for a few days and you came back the day that I left. We got drunk in the backyard and he cried his eyes out about you, and how none of the girls compared to you." He shrugs, and Mingyu pipes up. 

"I was there, too. My best friend was apparently the one who told him to fuck other girls, I cannot tell you how big of a fight we got into when I confronted him about it. It was so ugly, and I was pissed for so long."

"Wonwoo is also one to fucking talk, he's been stuck on one of my friends for ages. Last time he visited, I swear he lost his mind seeing her in her bikini." Soonyoung scoffs, and you nod quietly, "Chan is a dumbass, you're right."

"How long did it take you to move on? Did you?" Mingyu asks, propping himself up on his elbows. You frown, shaking your head. "I slept with one other guy, a year ago. It was okay, but you know." "It wasn't Chan." Soonyoung says softly, and you only slump in your chair. "I felt so pathetic. I still do, sometimes. It's hard not to think about those other girls when he's constantly just…there. He's both the angel and devil on my shoulder, he's consistently encouraging me but then he comes home for the holidays with me and he hurts my feelings." Mingyu sits up fully, a furrow on his brow as he looks at you.

"What do you mean?" "Ugh, it doesn't matter. It was stupid, and he apologized but now…now he's acting like he's in love with me, still. And I…don't know how to take it, or if I should believe him." You murmur, covering your face with your hands as Soonyoung hums. "Well, what did he say to make you think he's still in love with you?" "He said it, verbatim. He says he loves me, he said he wanted to try to win me back. He said that nothing meant anything to him after we broke up, and that he's looked for me in every girl he's been with since." Your voice is slightly muffled by your gloves, and you miss the endeared glances Soonyoung and Mingyu share.

"Then there you have it, Y/N. Not much to question when he's so outright, is there?" Soonyoung speaks around his cup, and you sigh, pushing yourself off the chair. "I guess…I don't know. We're taking a drive after dinner tonight, we might talk then. When do you guys leave?" "In about two hours. But, give us your contact information, you're funny." Mingyu holds his phone out, and you roll your eyes but quickly type in your information. Soonyoung hands you his as well, and they both send you a text to confirm their numbers. You give them each a hug goodbye, with Mingyu pinching your cheek and telling you to just go with the flow. Soonyoung ruffles your hair and tells you that at the end of the day, Chan is just a man and no matter how much you love him, you've got to put yourself first.

And you agree.

You don't get a chance to check in with Chan after saying goodbye to his cousins, because your father ropes you into waking Rosie up and helping her get dressed for dinner. You're holed away in her room, carefully curling her hair when she asks you about Chan.

"Do you hold hands with him?" She asks you suddenly, and you look at her in the mirror, the bathroom light making her dress glitter brighter. Hers was a soft ivory color, likely one to match your mother's. Your father had told you he'd get a champagne tie and pocket square so you'd all look cohesive, and you'd agreed as he left you to babysit Rosie – only for your mother to bang around in the kitchen moments after he left.

"With who, babycakes?" "With Channie, Y/N!" She whines as you spray her hair, and you snort. "Sometimes. When we cross the street, or sometimes just because. He's my best friend, we can do stuff like that." "Have you ever had a crush on him, Y/N?" She wiggles her eyebrows in the mirror, and you laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "Yeah, I have. You can have crushes on your friends, it's very common. It's not always the best idea, though. It can be really hurtful if they don't like you back." "So were you boyfriend and girlfriend or not? Because you say no but Mommy said yes." She got you, hook, line and sinker. You gape at her, and her eyes are pointed as you scoff. "Okay, fine. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for a little bit." "A little bit!? Why not forever? Ugh!" She gripes, and you can only hold back your shock as you smear a little bit of sunscreen on her face. "Well, sometimes things just don't work out, babycakes. Plus, Channie and I will always be best friends." "Daddy told me that he and Mommy were best friends and now they're married. Maybe you and Channie can get married, too!"

You feel your chest grow warm at the idea of marrying Chan, and the fact that Rosie liked him so much that she wanted that for you. You recall your father also telling you the story of how he and your mother met, and why he was so adamant that you and Chan would figure it out. He told you that story so many times over the years, you had it practically memorized.

"Maybe, Rosie." You grin, kissing her nose. "No promises." "It's okay, Channie promised me." She shrugs, climbing out of her chair as you freeze. "What? What'd you say?" "I said, Channie promised me. I asked him yesterday when we were playing Barbies in the car. But it's a secret, so don't tell him I told you." She says sternly, making you gape as she abandons you to find your mother downstairs. You take a deep breath, ignoring the way your stomach fills with fluttering as you make your way downstairs. You see Chan sitting at the dinner table, hair mussed from the wind outside as your mother serves him a cup of coffee. His eyes catch yours, and you quickly look away as you jump the rest of the stairs and dart into your bedroom.

You barely make it to your bedroom without the tears spilling down your face, and you lock the door behind you. You slide down the door, pulling your knees to your chest as you think back to all the moments between you and Chan. All the times he said he loved you, all the times he said he couldn't imagine a life without you.

The time in the backseat of his car, almost three years to the date – where he said both over and over again. Where he dragged his lips anywhere you'd let him, whispers of how perfect you were for him and how insane you made him feel. Where he made you cry as he touched you just right, biting at your shoulders and digging his dull nails into your hips.

Where he told you that you'd tattooed your name across his heart and it was yours forever.

Your body shook with ragged sobs, and you forced yourself to get up off the floor as regret only sank further in. You broke up with him. It was the right thing to do, for the sake of your friendship and the idea of any future together. It was the right thing to do.

"Fuck." You hold yourself over the sink of your bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and letting it drip into the basin. Your tears mixed with the water, and you hear a soft knock at your bedroom door, before the doorknob wiggles. "Y/N? Are you alright in there?" It's your father. You quickly dry your face with a towel, tossing it into the sink before ripping the door open. "Hey, Dad. D'ya get your stuff?" "Honey, are you alright?" His face is worried as his hand comes up to your cheek, and you quickly nod. "I'm good, I promise. I just had one of those moments, you know. Seasonal depresh and what not." He quirks a brow at you, "Seasonal depresh?"

"Dad!" You whine, and he shrugs. "Yes, I got my pocket square. Can you check if it matches your dress? Oh, tell me you're gonna go for curls this year, because your mom is and she's mad that Rosie's are 'too tight.'" He rolls his eyes at the same time you do, making you snort. "Yeah, I'll check. I'm gonna start getting ready now, can you let Chan know so he doesn't come barging in here?" "He's at his house, he just left. He'll be driving you both, though, so you can be comfortable in your shoes." He nods, and you take the pocket square. "I'll get this to you when I'm done, okay?" "For sure, honey. I'll be back later, don't rush." He nods, closing the door as he leaves. You toss the pocket square onto the vanity, before looking into it with a slightly defeated look. You grimace, before grabbing a towel out of one of your drawers.

It didn't take you too long to get ready – you got in and out of the shower, and did your hair within two hours. Your makeup was done an hour later, with Rosie barging into your room and demanding you put lipstick on her, too. You rolled your eyes at her, telling her to say please, telling her to say thank you – both of which she did after you swiped the wine red on her lips. She scampered out of your room as you slipped into your closet, your mother appearing in your doorway to offer her help with zipping you up.

"You look just like me sometimes." She murmurs as she zips the dress, her fingers nimbly hooking the clasp at the top. She runs her fingers through the large curls you'd given yourself, smiling at you in the mirror. You give her a weak one in return, when she sighs, her hands on your shoulders.

"I wanted to apologize, baby." Her eyes are worried as you glance at them through the mirror, your fingers fumbling with the jewelry box in front of you. "Apologize? For what?" "A few years ago, I told you that I thought you were a little too harsh with your words around Chan. I think I went as far as calling you the brute of the relationship, didn't I?" She asks softly, and you look away as you tongue at your lower lip. "Yeah." "I'm sorry. I spoke to Chan earlier after his cousins left, he came in for a cup of coffee before he went to go get ready for dinner. I asked him a few questions about you, and he told me what he said to you a few days ago." She tucks a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at the hoops she'd given you so many years ago. "It was really shitty of him to speak to you that way, and I told him so. I also told him that if he thinks he has even a remote chance of fixing things with you, that he better get on it soon. You're too kind for your own good sometimes, darling." "You think so?" You mumble, your eyes falling on a necklace Chan gave you for your birthday the year Rosie was born. You hadn't had a party that year, insisting Rosie was more important than anything else. He'd given it to you anyway, on the bus the morning of your birthday. You cried like a baby into his shoulder.

"I know so, honey. I know that somewhere in that heart of yours, you're waiting for him to make things right. Sometimes, I don't agree with it, but I also know you. I know you don't give anyone who doesn't deserve a second chance even a moment to speak to you. You're strong like that, just like your father."

You smile inwardly, her fingers lightly pinching your cheek. "I know you're good at taking care of yourself, but I also know Chan can take good care of you, too. I want you to be happy, and I know Chan makes you happier. You should've seen how you came into the house that year you were dating. You were smiling from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat." She leaves with a kiss to your cheek, careful not to smudge her own lipstick onto it. She closes the door quietly, but not before you hear the Lees greet your father warmly as they filed into your home. You thumb at the necklace, the simple heart-shaped locket opening to a picture of you and Chan as teenagers. You often wore it open, liking when people asked you questions about the picture. No bigger than a coin, the gold locket has always been something you carried with you even if you didn't wear it.

"Y/N, I'm here for my pocket square!" Your father knocks on the door, and you open the door, holding it out. "Here you go." "Oh, honey! You look so pretty!" Your father covers his face as you spin, before he takes his pocket square. "Wow, you look so much like your mother sometimes." "Funny, she said the same thing." You snort, and he uses the vanity in your bedroom to fix his pocket square carefully. "We discussed seating charts, you're sitting between Chan and Rosie. Is that okay, or should I switch one of them out?" "That's fine. Can you actually send Chan in here? I need to talk to him." You nod, and your father glances at you in the mirror. "Are you sure?" "Positive. Won't take long."

Your father leaves with a kiss to your hairline, and you fumble with the necklace until you hear footsteps outside your door. You lean carefully, hearing a deep breath before a knock. "Come in." Chan slides through the door with closed eyes, almost like he's bracing himself for something. You snort, "What the hell is wrong with you? Open your eyes." "Your dad said you need to talk to me, and if you're going to dump me again, I don't need you to look beautiful doing it." He rushes out, making you gape. "Chan." "I'm serious. I haven't seen you yet but I know you look great. I mean, you always look amazing but I don't think I can handle you dumping me on Christmas Eve when you're in one of those pretty dresses you always wear." He can hardly breathe, and you can't help but laugh. "Nobody's getting dumped, please relax. I just need your help putting my necklace on." "I don't believe you, you could've asked your dad." He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut so tightly you're worried they might never open again. You walk over to him, running your fingers through his hair carefully, before thumbing at the small silver hoop in his ear. "You know we're not exactly together, right?" "In my mind, we've been married since we were in second grade and Hyewon officiated it." He scoffs, and you quirk an eyebrow. "Is that why you promised my sister we'd get married?" His eyes open wide, his lips parting slightly. "She told you?" "Oh good, your eyes are open. Help me put this on." You turn around, grabbing the necklace off your vanity. You pinch the chain carefully, holding it out to him when you look up to see his hand covering his mouth. His eyes rake over you slowly, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as he walks around you. You shift uneasily as he makes it back in front of you, "Do I look okay?" "Okay?" He whispers, making you look in the mirror. You run your hands down the bodice of the dress, "Is it too much?" "Too much?" He's still whispering, his eyes still running up and down your frame as you grow nervous. "Chan! You're freaking me out!" "Oh, baby." He murmurs, taking a few steps closer to you, taking your hand gently and making you spin for him. You feel nerves settle in your stomach, when he finally speaks. "You look so beautiful. I truly don't think words can express how absolutely angelic you look, are you real? Please tell me you're real, this would be a cruel dream." His eyes are wide and slightly glossy as he turns around, and you hear a soft sniffle. You watch his hands move around his face from behind him, your eyes growing wide as he turns back around, teary-eyed as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "No, it's not too much. You're never too much. You look great. Are you ready?" You gawk at him, "Chan, why are you crying?" "Nevermind that." He shakes his head, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. Your brows are furrowed, and you hold out the necklace. "Help me put this on." He glances at the necklace, his cheeks and ears burning a soft pink hue as you spin around, moving your hair to the front. He sighs shakily, carefully looping the locket around your neck and clipping it. You adjust the locket, your lips pursed as you open it. "Wear it like that." He speaks behind you, his hand appearing on your hip in the reflection. You raise a brow, closing the locket only to hear a whine as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes, you open it, adjusting it to show the small photo of the two of you. "How was saying goodbye to your cousins? They had a lot to say about you." "It was fine. We sent them off with your mom's leftover cake, and Soonyoung finished it in the car before they even drove off. Mingyu was pissed." He snorts, and you hum quietly, reaching for the jewelry box once more. You sifted through your rings, Chan pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

"I missed you." He pouts, and you give him a half-smirk as you peer down at him. "Did you, now?" "Stop talking to me like that, I'll get hard. You did it earlier too, but I was ashamed then, there were people around." He buries his face into your neck, and you snort out a laugh. "What are you talking about? I'm not talking to you in any sort of way." "Oh, so telling me to fetch like a dog isn't talking down to me?" He scoffs, cheeks aflame as he meets your eyes in the mirror. You suck your teeth, sliding on one of your rings with a shake of your head. "You liked that? You're something else, Chan." "I've literally always been like this, you just didn't notice before." Rolling his eyes, he wraps his arms around your waist. This is when you notice his suit jacket cuffed with silver cufflinks, a gift from your father years ago for graduation. You twist slightly, the top two buttons of his black shirt undone to show off a few layered chains. Some were gifts from you.

Your hand pushes him back slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as he lets you run yours all over him. Your fingers tug at his belt buckle, "You look really nice." "You can do better than that." He chides, and you swallow a scoff but roll your eyes as you pull him to you by his belt loop. You press your lips to his lightly, "You take what you're given, or nothing at all." He breathes out heavily against your lips, and you move your hand to rest on his stomach. "Are you ready? They're going to want to take pictures before we leave."

He can't reply, the two of you springing apart when you hear a knock at the door. You cough as Chan blinks, before opening it to reveal Rosie. "Hi, pipsqueak." "Mommy said that if you're not in the living room, she's going to leave you both here." She relays with a roll of her eyes, and you hold back a snort. "Can't have that, can we?" Rosie asks Chan to pick her up as you slide on one last ring, your fingers fumbling with the lights. Rosie's pink cast is around Chan's neck as he holds her on his hip, and you instinctively slot your fingers with his before remembering your parents will see you. He squeezes your fingers lightly, a sheepish smile on his lips as you let go.

"Wow!" Mrs. Lee is the first person you hear as you step into the living room, your cheeks burning as she clambers over. "Look at you, honey! Oh, you're so grown up." Her hands are tucking your hair behind your ears, the both of you missing the way Chan's eyes fill with adoration as he delivers Rosie to your father. He clears his throat inwardly, watching the way your parents move in front of your fireplace for photos. He can't keep his eyes off you the entire time, even as his parents shove the two of you together for a photo.

"Chan, don't act like you did on prom night. Act like you wanna be here." Your mother scolds him playfully, and you feel your heart flutter as you tug his arm around your waist. His fingers easily settle low on your hip, your own finding his shoulder and you rest your cheek on top. "Smile!" Chan's fingers squeeze your hip as everyone turns away, sneakily pressing his lips to your temple as you begin to move away. Your eyes are wide as he walks away, grabbing your coat off your father's hands and helping you slide it on from behind. Everyone is trying to help Rosie, and he takes the opportunity to whisper in your ear.

"I'm so in love with you. I wish things were different right now." He sighs, carefully tucking your hair into the hood of your coat. You feel your cheeks heat as you turn so he can zip it up, wrapping your scarf loosely around your neck as he connects the zipper at the bottom. 

"I know. Eventually, okay? Just give me some time." You mumble back, tucking the end of your scarf into the coat as he nods defeatedly. You resist the urge to caress his cheek, run your fingers through his hair, kiss him. A weak smile is all you can muster as he straightens fully, adjusting your scarf so the zipper won't snag.

Your parents are looking your way, your mother watching the way Chan carefully zips your coat up. Your father smiles as he makes your mother turn away, "Your keys are in Chan's coat. Lock the door, come on." The two of you scramble behind your parents, Chan hastily shoving his coat on as you wrap his scarf around him as he walks forward. You tuck it into the coat as he zips himself up, his hand holding you steady in your heels as you step onto the porch. He locks the door quickly, trying the doorknob twice as your father helps your mother down the steps, and he offers his hand when he looks at your feet. "Y/N, why are your shoes open-toed? Are you out of your mind?" "I didn't have any heels that matched! It'll be fine!" You huff, and he gestures at the snowy pathway leading to your car. "Your toes are going to freeze and then you're going to get sick and die. Do you want to get sick and die, Y/N?" He scoffs, and you feel your scream caught in your throat as he picks you up princess-style. "Chan! Put me down!" He ignores you as he steps off the porch, carefully maneuvering his way to your car as you huff. Your lip is jutted out in a pout as he unlocks your car, bending at the knee to open your door and carefully set you down on the seat. He buckles your seatbelt in for you as your father pulls out of the driveway, giving you a honk as he turns out of your neighborhood. Chan shuts your door, rounding the front of the car to the driver's side. "You didn't have to do that." You mutter as he slides in, sticking the keys into the ignition as he shivers. "Yes, I did. Don't be brat, just let me take care of you." You don't reply, picking at your nails as he plugs his phone into the aux, handing it to you. Shuffling one of his playlists, the two of you freeze as you hear the opening notes of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic flow through the speakers. Chan purses his lips, single handedly unplugging his phone and tossing it into the backseat. "Nope. No music tonight, it seems."

"I thought you liked that song." You reach for his phone, grabbing it off the edge of the backseat and sliding it into the cupholder as he pulls out of the neighborhood. He has a tick in his jaw as he flicks on the turn signal, "I like it when we're in the backseat and you're on top of me, not when I'm driving you to dinner and not when you're in my clothes on the drive to your house." Your jaw could very well be on the floor the way you're gaping at him, his fingers reaching over to close your mouth. "Chan." "What? I think about that night all the time." He scoffs, turning onto the main street that makes the drive to your mother's restaurant five minutes longer. His hand floats down to your thigh, settling high on it through the slit of your dress. Tonguing your cheek, you stare out the window as your hand settles atop his. "You mean the night that–" "Shut up." You snicker to yourself, sliding your fingers between his. "You know it's not the worst thing in the world, right? Tons of people have breeding kinks." He winces as you say it, making a strangled noise of discomfort from his seat before glancing at you. "Y/N, I want you to take a really good look at me right now and tell me that it wasn't weird." He scoffs, and you shrug, facing him.

"It wasn't weird. I liked it." You admit, "I think the slightly weirder part was calling you daddy, but some things you do out of…you know." You trail off, feeling your cheeks hot as you look out the window. Chan makes a noise of approval, his hand flipping beneath yours to interlace your fingers. He brings your knuckles to his lips, a chaste kiss pressed on top of your rings. "I know, babe." The rest of the ride is silent, some shy glances shared before you pull into the parking lot where your father is waiting with Rosie. You smile, squeezing his hand in the shadow of the center console before letting go. Chan pulls around the building, looking for a parking spot. "We're still taking that drive later, right?" "If you're not too tired, or drunk." He snorts, and you gasp, landing a soft smack to his arm. "I got drunk one time!" "You called me daddy one time, I think that goes to show that you're game for anything at least once." He teases, and you sigh inwardly. "I guess that's true." "I know it is, I know you like the back of my hand. I love you." He says, mostly to himself as he pulls into a spot just a few feet from the door. Killing the engine, he looks over the steering wheel at your father. "Can your dad see us from here?" "I don't think so, he's entertaining Rosie. Why?" You unbuckle your seatbelt as he gets out, and you feel the door close as he rounds the car to open your door. You wait, before feeling the cold gust of winter air rush into the car. You shiver, grabbing Chan's phone out of the cupholder and taking his hand to step out. He pulls you close, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears as you look into his eyes. "Something wrong?" "No." He shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips as he thumbs at your earlobes. You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?" "Don't drink tonight." He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you nod slowly. "Any special reason?" 

He shrugs, before looping his arm with yours and pulling you towards the front of the restaurant. You can't help but look up at him with a shy smile as he guides you around piles of snow, before seeing the flash of a camera. You blink rapidly, before looking up to see your father holding Rosie on his hip, her hands holding a camera. Chan greets your father warmly, and Rosie shows him the photo. "Can I see, too?" You ask, peering over Chan's shoulder when Rosie tilts it away. "No." Your pout does nothing to sway your baby sister, making Chan snicker at you. The four of you walk into the restaurant, the warm air of the establishment like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. "I still can't believe your parents named both their businesses after you." Chan murmurs as you walk to the reserved room your mother arranges every year, and you snort.

"What can I say, they love me." You shrug, resting your head on his shoulder. Rosie looks over your father's shoulder, a crinkle in her nose as she sees the closeness between the two of you. "Are you sure you're not boyfriend and girlfriend?" "We're sure, babycakes." You laugh softly, moving to pull yourself away from Chan but feeling his fingers interlace with yours before you can. You glance at him, only to see him sticking his tongue out at Rosie, who blows a raspberry at him. A pit of anxiety opens in your stomach as your father opens the door for you both, letting you slip by when you feel Chan's fingers let go of yours, and a murmur of Can I talk to you, sir?

Rosie enters with you, Chan and your father lingering at the door before they take a turn back outside. Your eyes widen as Rosie leads you to the table, your mother sharing the same quizzical look. "Y/N, where's Chan? Did you guys fight?" "No, no. He's…he's with Dad." You reply absently, pulling your coat off as your mother helps Rosie out of hers. The table is set and covered entirely with food, the roast pig being the main attraction in the center of the table. You find your seat, pulling Rosie closer to you to fill the strange pit you feel. Chan and your father don't appear for another ten minutes, but they're both rather stoic as they enter – but you see a soft smile on his face as Chan takes his seat opposite your father.

"Everything okay?" Mrs. Lee asks gently, and Chan nods. "Don't worry, all good." If anyone notices how quiet you are during dinner, they don't say anything. You feel the heat of Chan's gaze more than once, but everyone is too wrapped up in the food and the conversation – to even notice the fact that Rosie fell asleep into her mashed potatoes. You're the one who realizes she's fallen asleep, cooing as you carefully wipe her face and wrap her coat around her as her head lolls onto your arm. You scoot closer, lifting her onto your lap and resting her head on your chest.

"Did she fall asleep?" Your mother asks incredulously, making you snort. "Right into her mashed potatoes. Don't worry, I got it." You wrap your arms around her, leaning back in your chair. "Your dinner, though?" Your mother points at your picked plate, and you shrug. "I'll take it home. No big deal, I'm not exactly hungry. I could fall asleep right now, too." You shake your head, running your fingers through your sister's hair. Your mother nods, beckoning one of her waitstaff to wrap the plate up for you. His name is Hansol, and he carefully takes your plate and disappears with it.

Dinner continues for a few more hours, and you reach over to Chan and tug on his sleeve. He gives you a glance, concern in his eyes before you tap your wrist. He checks his watch, flashing it to you. Midnight. You wince, looking over to your father to see him glancing at his own watch. "Oh, man. It's really late, we should get going." He hisses, and your mother's eyes widen as she sees the time. "Shit, I told them we'd be out by eleven. Alright, up. Let's get going." Your father takes Rosie from your lap, and your mother carefully pulls her coat over the pink cast. You watch tentatively, ready to step in at any moment when you feel Chan's hand on your shoulder. Jumping slightly, you feel the soft fabric of your coat. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Arms, please." You don't look at him as he works around you, until Rosie is on your father's hip and Chan is wrapping your scarf around you. "You're distracted tonight. Everything okay?" Chan's voice is soft as he zips your coat up, his own already settled on his frame. "What did you and my dad talk about?" You blurt, and he raises a brow as he follows the four parents out of the room, who are still chattering about everything and anything. He scans your face, concern weighing heavy on his brows before he smiles. "I didn't ask him to marry you, if that's what you're worried about. That's further down the line." Seeing the way your shoulders settle, Chan loops his arm with yours. "Did you want me to ask him?" You don't respond, letting him lead you out of the restaurant. Your parents are all still talking as your father buckles Rosie into her carseat, her eyes opening slightly as you pass by. You wave at her, only for her eyes to close again. Smiling to yourself, you wait for your parents to acknowledge you and Chan waiting by the front of your father's SUV.

"Going for a drive?" Your mother asks gently, and you nod. "Home soon, don't worry." You hold your pinky out, only for your father to clasp it with his own. "Take your time. Drive safe."

Your eyes search your father for answers, and he only smiles. "See you at home, honey."

Nodding slowly, you and Chan bid your parents goodnight, your mother's eyes lingering as Chan walks you back to the car. You can feel your chest a bit tight as he opens your door, but give him a strained smile as he gets into the driver's seat.

"Alright, what's eating you? Besides me." He jokes lightly, pulling out of the parking lot. You see your parents' car already at the stoplight in the street, the light turning green just as Chan pulls into the street. "Nothing." "You're lying." He plugs his phone into the aux as the light turns red, a click of his tongue as he presses shuffle on yet another random playlist. The soft melody of Scared To Live by The Weekend pours out of your speakers as he takes the oh-so-familiar turn down the same road you've taken this drive on every year. It's scenic, it's always decked with Christmas lights and it leads you right to a random cliff that overlooks the entire city. You sigh as he holds his hand out for yours, interlacing your fingers and leaning back on the headrest. You recline your seat a bit, crossing your legs at the knee. He lets go of your hand and you cover your face with your arms, his fingers sliding up and down your exposed thigh.

"You can always talk to me, you know." He murmurs over the music, this time it's Fantasy by Bazzi. You nod silently, hearing a hum from him as he traces circles into your skin with his thumb. The drive is silent aside from the music, Chan's comfort seeping into your body via his hand and your shoulders losing their tension as he pulls into the deserted cliff. You'd found it years before you went to college, and enjoyed retreating there to get high together behind your parents' backs. You also exchanged one Christmas gift here every year, basking in the privacy and security of each other's warmth on the hood of whoever's car you took that time.

"So? What's going on?" He parks the car, lowering the music as he turns to look at you. You peek at him from beneath your arms, a pout on your lips. "Nothing, really. I'm good."

Chan moves your arms from your face, his fingers coming to poke at your cheeks with every word. 'You are such a bad liar, baby."

You groan, "It's stupid. It's so stupid because you're probably not going to have to deal with until you're in your fucking thirties but I've been dealing with it since I was in high school." Your pout makes Chan thumb at your lip, an understanding look in his eyes. "You mean that same conversation your parents keep having with you about having kids and getting married?" "Yes! Ugh, that's why I was so quiet at dinner. And why I was so pissy on the way here from campus. I do not want to have this fucking conversation again this year, especially when I don't even know what's going to happen when we leave." You fall back into your seat, feeling Chan's hand cup your knee. "I'm so sick of being asked the same shit, I'll get married when I get married and I'll have kids when I have kids. What about my career? No one but you and my dad ask about what I want to do after college. What if I want a master's degree? What if I want a doctorate?" Chan listens intently, his eyes flowing between worried and understanding. "Well, what if? Do you want to do that? What do you want to do after we graduate? Do you want to move back here, do you want to move somewhere else, do you want to pursue something more? Do you want to work full-time?" "What does it matter what I want? You want to get married, Chan." You sigh, and he shakes his head. "It matters because you're your own person, not an extension of me. I don't want to get married if you don't want to, and definitely not if we're not well established. Stable present makes for a stable future, and I want things to be just as easy as they always have been between you and me. You call my name, I come. If time is the issue, I'll wait. I waited my entire life before freshman year, and I've waited three years since then."

You peer up at him, "So you're serious about marrying me? You weren't kidding?" "Respectfully, I don't think you've ever sounded more insane than you do right now." He scoffs, sitting up and pulling you with him. Your lip is jutted out in a slight pout as you thumb the seam of your dress, Chan's fingers grazing your jaw as he makes you look at him. 

"I love you, Y/N. I'd wait an eternity for you, as long as you're happy. I want you to feel fulfilled, and I know that you're not going to if I try to tie you down with bullshit. Yes, I want to get married. Yes, I want to marry you. You've seen me through every stage of my life and as painful as it may have been for you because I've been an absolute douche, you stuck by me. I don't know how else to make you understand that you're important to me, and that includes embracing who you are as an individual. Even if you say no to anything I offer, the house, the ring, the kids, the fucking pursuit of happiness by my side…none of it matters as long as I know that you're happy with yourself." You don't realize you're crying until his thumbs wipe at your cheeks, his fingers tucking your hair behind your ears. "I love you, endlessly. I'll always be here, and I know maybe that's not what you need to hear to be comforted but I need you to know that." You sniffle slightly, "What if my mother pressures me enough that I make a rash decision? What if she manages to get to me just like she always has?" "She won't. Even if she did, I know you in ways she doesn't. I know every side of your heart, I know how kind and forgiving it can be and I know how cold and cruel it can be. I know you're strong and independent and you don't need me to ever speak up on your behalf, but if ever your voice is lost on you, I can. I have, and I will continue to do so. Your honor is mine, even if mine isn't yours."

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, wanting the conversation to end. "I forgot your gift at the house. I'm sorry." 

"That's alright. I still have yours, if you want to go sit while I get the blanket." He presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, allowing you to change the subject. "I feel bad, though." "Go sit for me." He nips at your ear, making you jolt as you shove him. He smirks as you scoff, wiping at your face carefully as you open the door and step out. You shudder as the cold hits your feet, but you hoist yourself onto the hood of your car as Chan pulls the thick blanket you brought from your apartment out of your trunk. The metal is still warm before you feel him kill the engine, the motor dying under you as he shuts the door, shoving your keys into his pocket. He drapes the blanket over your face as you feel him grab your ankle. Jolting, you push the blanket off, seeing a pair of socks clenched between his teeth as he undoes the strap of your shoe.

"Where the fuck did you find those?" You let him slide the black sock over your foot, and he shrugs. "Your cheer bag is still in the trunk. I know these are new, though, because I put them in there before we left for practice last week." He shrugs, slipping off the other shoe and putting the sock on, covering you with the blanket once more as he rounds the car to throw the shoes into the backseat. You stare at the clear sky as he slides onto the hood next to you, a soft sigh from his lips as you drape the blanket over his leg.

"I didn't ask your dad to marry you, I promise. I just talked to him about how I felt and what he thinks I should do." You hear him say softly, and you turn to see him looking at you already. Your brow raises, and he holds up a white box. It's from the jewelry store you found Rosie and Mrs. Lee in when you went to the mall, the silver logo stamped on the top. "He said I should be honest and tell you what I want, and listen to what you have to say. So, uhm…this is more for you and I than anyone else, but I…I understand if you don't want it." He pops it open, a slim gold band slotted into the cushion with a thicker one, presumably for him. The rings are studded with stones, emeralds and sapphires with smaller white diamonds scattered about. You look at him, a certain softness to your gaze that has only ever been present for him.

"A promise ring?" He shifts under your gaze, cheeks tinging pink as he sits up, sliding off the hood of the car. He paces slightly, "I know it's so…ugh, it's so high school. And we're not even together, and I'm willing to wait–" "I'm not." You interrupt, "I'm tired of waiting, Chan."

His eyes are wide as you shrug, holding your hand out for the box. "Can I see?" He hands it to you, your fingers pinching the delicate band and holding it up to your eyes. "Is this what you bought when you were fighting your mom at the register?" "It's also why your class ring went missing last month, but that's neither here nor there." He admits sheepishly, making you gape. "You took it! You little rat, I knew you had something to do with it."

"I needed it for the sizing! And I got it back! Do you…do you like it?" He asks shyly, resting his hands on either side of your legs as he leans closer to you. You nod, "I love it, it's beautiful. Good eye, I guess." "Can't you just give me a compliment without making it sound so forced?" He rolls his eyes as you replace the ring, holding the box in your hand. You shake your head, "I'll have a lifetime to do that. Do I get to put yours on for you?" "You're taking it? You're saying yes, I mean?" His eyes are wide as he scans your face, and you scoff. "Obviously? We still have a lot of growing to do, but I don't take the steps to make a decision unless I know it's the right thing to do. You know that." "Including breaking up with me on my birthday?" "Including saying yes when you ask me to be your girlfriend in about two minutes. I should make you wait, but I'm impatient." He rolls his eyes, leaning slightly closer. You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his, feeling your cheeks heat as he brushes his lips to yours. "I love you." "You're right, I do deflect a lot." He laughs, peppering kisses around your face as you scrunch your nose. "Be my girlfriend, please. I'd be nothing of a man without you." "I mean, I guess if you want me that bad–" "Respond properly or I'm taking your socks off." "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend." You roll your eyes, pressing a kiss to his lips. He kisses you back softly, his hands moving to hold your face carefully. "You know the ring means you'll also say yes to being my fiancée and then my wife, right?" He speaks against your lips, kissing you between words. "Mhm." You hum in response, before taking the thicker ring out of the box in your hand. "Let me put this on you. You can't take it off, like, ever."

"Wait, you first." He pulls away, taking the ring out of the box and sliding it into his coat pocket. He takes your hand in his carefully, "I think I'm gonna cry." "That's okay. I've seen you cry before. I've seen you throw up and I still think you're a pretty okay guy." You joke to ease him, noting the way his fingers tremble slightly as they slide the ring down your finger. It fits snugly, and he runs his thumb over it a few times before looking up at you. "Are you sure?" "Are you?" You hold up his ring, and he nods slowly. "If I'm not sure of anything else in this life, I have the comfort of knowing I'll always be sure of you." "When did you become so profound?" You tease, slipping the ring down his finger. He scoffs, "What part of you deflect and I don't did you forget? I've always been this way! You've just gotten good at ignoring me because you don't like to admit my compliments make you feel some type of way." "You just make me nervous." You confess quietly, tugging on the lapel of his coat. "You think you don't make me nervous? I can't talk to you sometimes without getting my tongue twisted."

"Your tongue does better things than talk, Chan." "I thought we were having a wholesome moment here." He flicks your forehead, your hand moving up to swat his hand away. He grabs it midair, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. "Are we still keeping this under wraps?" Your eyes widen, "Shit, are we?" "I mean…my mom knows I got these." He winces, and you click your tongue. "Your mom also told me you're a crybaby who called her and said I broke your heart."

"I may be a crybaby but at least I can tell someone when I love them." He scoffs, making you furrow your brows. "You wanna play that game? Because I have so much shit from Soonyoung and Mingyu, too." "Tell me you love me!" He whines, and you roll your eyes. "I'm your girlfriend, not your puppet. I'll tell you when I'm good and damn ready." "Great, I'm ending the year with a girlfriend that hates me." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before sucking his teeth. "I did this to myself." "If you get me out of the cold within the next twenty seconds, I'll let you go down on me when we get home." You offer, before a shriek rips through you as he throws you over his shoulder. 

"As you wish, girlfriend."

DECEMBER 31, 9:42PM.

Chan in fact, did go down on you when you got home. Twice on your bed without even taking your dress off, and once in the shower. Your legs could barely hold you up, but that doesn't really matter when your boyfriend forgets his own strength while pinning you against the bath tile.

Christmas Day was rather uneventful aside from unwrapping gifts, with Rosie screaming excitedly about the extensive sets of Legos and Barbie dolls you and Chan got for her. Your parents gifted you and Chan a vacation to Bali, set for after your graduation, as well as a new pair of earrings. The Lees gave you a rush of nostalgia as they gave you yet another locket, this one with a picture of you and Chan as babies.

Chan watched the exchanges quietly, and the night concluded with you and him falling asleep watching a movie in your bed. His parents never did make him move to his bedroom after Mingyu and Soonyoung left, and your parents didn't mind him staying so long as you were fine with it. You still didn't fuck him, but he was perfectly content with waiting – so long as you didn't mind his tongue between your thighs in the middle of the night or at the crack of dawn. You spent the next few days simply existing within your families. You got your nails done with Mrs. Lee, and took Rosie along with you. Rosie got her cast off and cried when the physician cut through your signature, tears only stopped by a scoop of chocolate almond ice cream on a waffle cone. You spent a bit of time with your mother at the restaurant, tasting a few of her new recipes and coming home to sleep in Chan's arms with a stomach ache from all the food. Per usual, Chan continued his whispered sweet nothings and you shied away from him often, only for him to pull you back into his embrace and kiss you until you couldn't breathe, followed by murmurs of I love you. 

The days were quiet, and your families were slowly growing used to having you and Chan around – something that always backfired on them, because the two of you usually left a day or two after ringing in the New Year together. It helped you beat the traffic back, and it helped you decompress from spending so much time with Chan.

Not that you'd need to do that this time…because, well. You know.

"Do I look okay?" You ask your mother for the billionth time, smoothing your hands over the front of your dress. She rolls her eyes as she sprays a bit of perfume in the middle of your back, making you flinch at the sensation. "You look lovely, darling. Please, get a grip! This is just the same people we've rung the New Year in with every year. Nothing new, nothing to be nervous about."

Your mother sprays perfume on her wrists, before dabbing them on her neck. "Go downstairs, check on Rosie. I'm going to be so upset if your father let her have anything that could stain that dress, it was too expensive to ruin." You sigh shakily, looking at yourself in the full-length mirror your mother had in her bedroom. Your dress was black and glittery, ending at your mid-thigh with an open back that left little to the imagination as it stopped just at the dip of your spine. It had straps that sat off your shoulders with a low-cut neckline, and you only wore a necklace that Chan had bought to play off the rings he'd gotten you. It sat nicely at the base of your throat, the only gift he gave you in front of your parents.

"Y/N!" Rosie called from the bottom of the stairs as you reached the first one, and you smiled down at her as you made your way down. "Babycakes! You look so pretty in your dress!"

"Thank you!" She beams up at you, holding a pink lollipop in her hand. Your father is sitting on the couch, eyes closed as you walk up behind him. "Catching up on sleep, old man?" "You know it. I love having you kids here, but I'm exhausted from all the socializing. I only have so many things to say." He sighs, and you snort. "Don't worry, just a few more days. Chan and I are leaving on the third, I think."

It's not long before your mother comes downstairs, her dress a sparkly burgundy this year. Her lipstick matches it, and your father presses a kiss to her temple as he helps her tug her coat on. Rosie is settled on your hip, her head resting on your shoulder as the four of you walk over to the Lees, and you already regret the thin coat you chose to layer over your dress. You shiver as you walk up the steps to the porch, Rosie fighting sleep as you bounce her around.

"Don't sleep, Rosie! It's just a little party!" You wiggle her around, her giggle tired as your mother knocks on the front door. Chan appears as he throws it open, ushering everyone inside. His eyes meet yours, widening at the necklace sitting on your skin. You feel your cheeks heat as you walk past him, setting Rosie down and tugging her coat off as he closes the door. You lower to her height, "Don't fall asleep, okay? You feel sleepy, come find me." You tap her cheeks, and she nods as she trails off to find your mother, who is greeting Mrs. Lee with the bottle of wine you brought over. Chan helps you stand upright, a soft smile on his face as he pulls you into a hug. "I haven't seen you since this morning. I missed you, gorgeous." He mumbles into your ear, and you roll your eyes as you weasel out of his embrace. "You always miss me. I'm literally across the lawn." You tug your scarf off, and he takes it, his hand awaiting for your coat. "What did your dad make this year?" You nod in the direction of the kitchen, the rich smell of lemongrass and garlic filling the house. He opens his mouth to respond, only for his words to get caught in his throat as you slide your coat off, his eyes landing on the expanse of your back. It's speckled with glitter, courtesy of your mother, and you swing your hair behind you as you hand him your coat.

"What? Are you okay?" Your voice is concerned as you glance at him, your hands moving to smooth the front of your dress. He blinks, before his mother's voice cuts through the air. "Y/N! Oh my, let me see your dress! Give me a spin!" She sets her wine glass down on the table, and you give her a warm hug before she spins you around. "You look stunning! Come, we have to take your picture." You give Chan a glance over your shoulder, his ears red as he snaps out of his daze, hanging your coat on the door as Mrs. Lee pulls you into the living room with your parents. She poses you all in front of her Christmas tree, before it's just you and Rosie. Rosie yawns as Mrs. Lee takes the photo, and you tell her it's best to just let the kid take a nap. "You can put her down in the guest bedroom, but can I get a picture with you and Channie first?" She nods, and you open your mouth to protest but she calls him over before you can say anything. He looks a bit bewildered as he walks over, clearing his throat as he stands next to you. You feel an awkward air floating off of him as he makes no move to touch you, and Mrs. Lee huffs. You quickly wrap his arm around your waist like you did on Christmas Eve, expecting his hand to fall in the same low spot on your hip – but you feel it ghosting over your back as you resume the same position. You don't say anything, just smiling as Mrs. Lee snaps your photo. She thanks you, turning away with the permission to drop Rosie in the guest bedroom.

"Wanna tell me what your problem is?" You mutter to Chan, who sucks his teeth. "Wanna tell me why you wore this dress?" "Oh, so I'm the problem? Good to know." You grit, before you pick Rosie up off the couch, hoisting her over your shoulder as you make your way to the guest bedroom. Chan follows closely behind you without you realizing, and is leaning in the door frame as you tuck Rosie into the bed, carefully covering her with the blanket so as to not be blamed for creases in her dress. You kiss her forehead, walking out of the bedroom only to bump into Chan, who grabs your arm and pulls you into his bedroom with a quick tug. "Bro." You're frustrated, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pull your arm out of his grasp, only for him to pull you into him by your waist. "Don't call me bro, I literally made you cum on my tongue this morning." He scoffs, his grip is bruising against your skin. "Who's the insatiable one now? Over a dress? Really?" You roll your eyes, but it seems your boyfriend has no time for your goading as he pushes you against his door, lips pressed against yours in a searing kiss. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he slides his hands down your back. He pulls away with a nip to your lip, leaving you to pout as you chase after him. "Not just a dress, you in this fucking dress. What were you thinking?" "Wanted you to see me in it." You confess quietly, your eyes glued to his lips, now slightly stained with your red lipstick. He sighs, "Don't act cute. I can't be mad when you do that." "Don't be mad at me. Don't you think I look pretty?" Your eyes feign innocence, blinking up at him as he groans in lust-fueled frustration. "Not mad at you, baby. Never mad at you." He rests his forehead against yours, "I want you so fucking bad, it's pathetic." "Have me." You murmur, nosing at him as he shakes his head. "I can't, not right now. Certainly not in my parents' house." "Oh, but when it's my parents' house, it's fine??" You snort, making him laugh softly, brushing a kiss against your lips. "For old time's sake, I'll say yes. Keeping up with traditions and whatnot."

"They're gonna wonder where we are." You sigh, before feeling his hands travel further south. You swat them away, "If you're not gonna fuck me, you can't feel me up and leave me all needy. It's not fair." "I like it when you're needy." He kisses your jaw, and you scowl, pinching his nipple through his shirt. Of course, the rat bastard only leans into your touch, eliciting soft whine from his throat. "You're such a fucking freak!"

"You're literally the reason I'm this way. You're the blueprint." He rolls his eyes, before he turns you over, pushing your chest against the door as he presses his hips into you. Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh falling from your lips as he grinds against you. His fingers toy with the hem of your dress, shoving it up slightly when you hear a gasp from his lips.

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me." 

He moves away entirely, and you feel him sink to his knees behind you. He pushes your dress up, the fabric bunching around your hips to expose your bare ass. You'd forgone underwear in hopes of things going this direction tonight, but certainly not this early in the night. But by all means, you're willing to let bygones be bygones as long as Chan keeps touching you.

You can almost hear his internal battle as he pushes you forward a bit, spreading your thighs with his hands. "You're gonna kill me one day, aren't you? In cold blood. I'll be dead because you can't behave." He's fighting himself as you glance over your shoulder, a look feigning disinterest on your face as you shrug. "Take it or leave it."

He chooses to leave it, but not before sinking his teeth into your thigh, pinning your arm to your back when you reach to swat at him. "Chan!" "Shut up, they'll hear you." He rolls his eyes as he stands, using his free hand to massage the bitten area. "You can wait, right? It's only two hours." "I don't want to." You pout, pushing back against him. He lands a quick slap to the meat of your ass, your cheeks flushed as he whispers in your ear. "You're gonna have to, baby. Be a good girl for me, yeah?"

You huff, squirming against him when you feel his hand slip between your thighs. His fingertips drag slowly through your wet folds, just barely breaching your entrance when he pulls them away. "Open your mouth."

You turn to see him licking his fingers clean, your heart beating wildly in your chest as he repeats himself. "Open. Don't make me do it for you."

"Kiss me first." He does as you ask, tugging the fabric of your dress back down as he snakes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands fist at the lapels of his suit jacket, whining into his mouth before he pulls away. Your lips jut out in a pout, a soft chuckle from Chan before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Open up." You do as you're told, sticking your tongue out for him to spit onto. Your eyes flutter shut the moment you feel it, his hand on your jaw pulling you forward to kiss him. Your legs feel like jelly at his touch, feeling him mumble those three little words against your lips.

"I love you. Don't act up and I won't, either." He holds his pinky out, and you reluctantly link yours with it. He wipes the corners of your lips, "Go. I have to…calm down."

"Tell me you love me again." You look up at him, making him roll his eyes as he bites back a smile. "If I tell you again, will you get out?" "Maybe." You smile back, making him physically turn you, his hands on your shoulders as you turn the doorknob to his room. "I love you, baby. Now, go." You slink out of his bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you slip into the bathroom. Your skin feels hot as you look in the mirror, your lipstick only slightly smudged – a blessing, truly. You pat your fingers over your swollen lips, before checking the hem of your dress. You tug it lower, making sure it covers everything before ruffling your hair and taking a deep breath.

Two hours. Easy.

Not easy.

It's been an hour and forty-five minutes, and you can feel your patience wearing thin as Chan acts like nothing happened.

He's standing across the room, talking to your mother with a soft smile on his face – just like he has been for the last thirty minutes. His wine is the same color as her dress, listening to her drone on and on about the benefits of turmeric in cooking as well as body products. Your cheek is resting on the heel of your palm, your other hand holding your second flute of champagne as you stare at your boyfriend without a care in the world – when you see a little head start floating your way, a frumpled blue dress catching your eye.

"Y/N?" She calls tiredly, rubbing her eyes as she looks around for you. "Babycakes! I'm over here, come sit with me!" You pat your lap, setting your champagne on the table as she makes her way over to you. She climbs into your lap and you smooth her hair down as she rests her head on your shoulder.

"How was your nap? Any good dreams?" You ask, twirling a piece of her hair in your fingers. She shakes her head, "No dreams. Just sleep." She shrugs, yawning as she buries her face into your neck. You wrap your arms around her, rocking back and forth and humming quietly.

It's not even five minutes when she falls limp with sleep in your arms, and you rest your cheek atop her head as Mrs. Lee makes way to you, her silver dress stunning as she extends her hands. "Do me a favor, honey. Go steal Chan from your mother, we're going to start the countdown soon and I'm sure you want to spend a few moments with him.” Her eyes twinkle like she knows something, taking Rosie from your lap. You nod sheepishly, standing up and tugging your dress down slightly. You grab your flute of champagne, smiling inwardly as you make your way across the living room to Chan's side. You squeeze your mother's shoulder lightly to get her attention, her voice stopping in the middle of a rosemary and thyme soap recipe she's reciting. "Yes, darling?" "Rosie's up. Might wanna check on her, I can't gauge if she'll sleep tonight." You wince, and your mother nods, putting her wine glass down on the coffee table. She walks away, your father joining her in the kitchen when you feel Chan's hand on your lower back. "Hey." He pulls you into his side, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You try not to lean into the touch, a soft smile on your lips. "Hey. Tired?" "Exhausted, actually. I do not want to be here right now." He sighs, and you open your mouth to reply when you see Mr. Lee turn the television on to the New Year's Eve countdown from the Lotte World Tower. You smile to yourself as Chan shuffles you both behind the couch, his hand keeping skin-on-skin contact the entire time. You miss the glance your father gives you as you lean your head on Chan's shoulder, the way Chan's fingers run up and down your side.

You miss the way your mother joins him in looking at the two of you, the way Chan's looks at you adoringly. The way your arm wraps around his waist, and your fingers trace circles into his side, the glint of the ring he gave you mocking her in the light. Your mother gives your father a look, one that screams is that what I think it is? Your father only shrugs, draping his own arm around her shoulders and making her face the television. The reporter is excitedly moving around the prepared stage, talking a mile a minute about all the musical achievements by artists in a rapid fire attempt to fill the last two minutes to the countdown. Mrs. Lee slots her fingers with her husband, and you find yourself finding Rosie's sleepy eyes on your father's shoulder. She smiles, giving you a thumbs up and you scrunch your nose at her, giving one back. She points at Chan, and you tap him to get his attention for her. He looks up, meeting her eyes and receiving the same reaction. He gives her one back, and she closes her eyes, turning the other way.

"She's adorable." He murmurs as you look up at him, "She is." The reporter smiles widely as the large number 10 splays on the television. Your parents break into chatter, Chan's parents drifting over to yours slowly. You tug at Chan's sleeve, earning a hum as he looks at you once more.

"Do you ever think about what our kids will look like?" You whisper, and he nods. "Sometimes." 9…

"Do you have names?" "A few."

8…

"Do you think about our wedding?" "All the time. I'm going to cry like a fucking baby." 7…

"How do you feel about a summer wedding?" "Whatever you want, baby. I'd get married in the woods if you wanted." 6…

"Like in Breaking Dawn?" "That wedding was beautiful. I cried, remember?" 5…

"I do. You cry a lot, you know?" "Emotional vulnerability is sexy, is it not?"

4…

"You think so?" "I know so." 3…

"Hey, Chan?" "Yes, Y/N?" 2…

"Are you gonna kiss me?" "Yeah, babe. I'm gonna kiss you." 1…

"I love you." You mumble, pressing your lips to his as the reporter boasts a Happy New Year from Lotte World Tower!

His hand is low on your back as he kisses you deeply, your own holding his cheek as your parents cheer and congratulate each other. You hear a soft voice above it all, "Channie and Y/N are kissing."

You pull back from Chan to see your parents gaping at you, and Rosie smiling before she lays her cheek back on your father's shoulder. "I told you they were boyfriend and girlfriend. You owe me fifty bucks, Mommy."

You gawk at her, Chan coughing awkwardly as your mother covers her face. "You bet on us?" "I assume the two of you managed to talk things out." Your father's voice is level, a warm smile on his face as Chan clears his throat. "Yes, sir." "And everything is okay…now?" Mr. Lee chimes in, your face growing warm as you nod, "Yes, sir." "And you're…together? Officially?" Mrs. Lee asks calmly, a grin fighting its way onto her lips as you and Chan flush embarrassedly. "Yes." You say in unison, and Mrs. Lee smiles from ear to ear, holding her hand out to your mother.

"You owe me a hundred bucks." "Wanna take a drive? I don't want to see money exchange hands." Chan scoffs, and the parents start arguing within themselves – mostly your mother defending herself and your father rolling his eyes as he fishes his wallet out, eager to pay your mother's debts.

"We're outta here." You announce, grabbing your coat off the rack. Your father gives you a nod, "We'll be here a while, it seems. Be safe, honey."

You nod, placing a kiss on Rosie's head before you leave. "Thanks, babycakes." "You're welcome, sissy." She smiles tiredly, closing her eyes as you ruffle her hair. You slip out, Chan closing the door behind you as you tug your coat on. "We're not actually going on a drive, you know that, right?" His gaze is pointed, and you roll your eyes as you pull him off his porch, the cold winter air nothing in comparison to the heat on your skin as you fumble for your keys. He keeps his hands off you as you both make your way to your house, your fingers trembling in excitement as you stick the key in the lock and turn it. You push the door open carefully, and he slides in behind you, shutting it with his foot and locking it behind him.

You peel your coat off, handing it to him to hang on the rack by the door. He's oddly quiet as he does the same, before silently taking your hand and leading you to your bedroom. He lets you walk in first, locking the door behind him as you step out of your heels.

You feel his hands on your bare waist, pulling your back to him as he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. You close your eyes, feeling his lips trail up your shoulder, before his teeth tug on the necklace he gave you. "Can we keep this on?" "Yeah."

He hums softly, pressing a kiss behind your ear. His hands move to your arms, "Can we take this off? Is that okay?" You nod silently, letting him slip the straps of your dress down your arms, the fabric pooling around your hips as he sighs, keeping his hands on your sides as he trails open-mouthed kisses down your spine, breathing you in like you're the only oxygen he knows. His teeth tug at the hem of your dress, pulling it over the swell of your ass with ease. The flimsy fabric falls to your feet, his teeth nipping at your hip before you feel him stand, his hands on your waist turning you around.

"I love you." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed as yours open. You look at him in the moonlight, every eyelash, every tired line, everything that is the Lee Chan you love illuminated before you. Your hands move to his shirt, "Is this where I say it, too?" Your comment makes him smile inwardly, "If you'd like. I heard you, when you kissed me. You don't have to, I know you do." You feel so vulnerable under him like this, but you know him. You know he's just as vulnerable as you are, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt and untucking it from his belt. Your voice feels lost, but you clear your throat as you push his shirt down over his shoulders, revealing toned arms and the same muscular chest you loved to lay your head upon on sleepless nights.

"I love you, endlessly." You say softly, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. He nods silently, pressing a kiss to your forehead as your hands move to his belt, carefully tugging the leather strap from the silver buckle. You pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the ground as Chan's hands come to your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks gently as your hands unbutton his slacks, carefully tugging the zipper down as you brush a kiss to his jaw. 

He stops you from pushing his pants down, his lips finding yours with a gentle insanity one can only describe as love. He swipes your hair back over your shoulders as he lets your hands rest on his waist, his lips pouring every single word into your mouth with a passion you'd only ever felt with him. This is the kiss you missed for three years, the soft grip of his hand in your hair as he guides his tongue against yours fluidly. This is the man you longed for unknowingly for your entire life, so loving and soft and sensual as he sucks on your tongue with a quiet moan. 

This is the love you'd patiently waited to return to you, the way you felt the cool metal of his matching ring against the warm skin of your thigh as he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms draped over his shoulders. This is the love you'd wantonly waited for, the way he eased you onto your bed, not letting you untangle yourself from him as he continued to kiss you so agonizingly slow, you could feel your arousal slightly soak into the waistband of his slacks. 

This is the love you'd yearned for, where he remembers every single one of your buttons. How he doesn't stop kissing you because he knows you love the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his hand only slides from your thigh to your dripping core because he knows you hate when he's not touching you constantly. How he steadies himself above you by pinning one hand above your head, interlacing your fingers as his other hand spreads your thighs for him.

"I love you." He whispers against your lips, not giving you a chance to respond as he carefully glides two of his fingers through your slick folds, earning a shiver as he traces your clit slowly. You mewl in his ear, his skin prickling with goosebumps at how wet you are for him. He presses a kiss to your jaw, "My gorgeous girl. So perfect for me." You bite back a whimper as his hand lands a rather wet slap to your clit, your body jolting into his as he chuckles. "Still like that?" He does it again, your thighs flinching around his hips as a broken moan leaves you.

He kisses your lips, swallowing any sounds you could've let out as he stops teasing you, his fingers carefully curling into your entrance. You shudder against him, a high-pitched whine from you making him laugh against your mouth. "Feel good, baby?" His thumb circles your clit as his fingers scissor you open, the pads of his digits brushing that spongy spot inside you that makes your breathing shaky. Your walls are impossibly tight around his fingers and it makes him dizzy, feeling you clench around his hand every time he reaches that spot he knows can make you cum within minutes. "Faster, please…" You run your hand through his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. He kisses you messily, bullying his fingers into you faster and feeling you pant yes, just like that softly against his lips. "Just like that? Like it fast, baby?" He mocks you, loving the way you nod dumbly. "Love it, love you, Channie.." Your eyes are teary as he brings you to the edge, his stomach fluttering at your soft whines. You made him feel like he was on fire, overstimulating his every sense with your whimpered begging for more as he nipped at your chest, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he mimics you, "Yeah, love me? How much, princess?"

"So m-much, think about you all day. Want you all the time, f-fuck…" Your thighs tighten around his hips, "Want me all the time? You're so cute. So needy for me, huh?"

You can only nod, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes as your nails dig into his shoulder, a tell-tale sign you're going to cum if he keeps going. He pulls a guttural moan from you, his favorite of them all as you coat his hand and wrist with your orgasm. "That's it, baby. Let go for me." He works you through it, your thighs trembling just like the first night the two of you slept together, your moans becoming nothing but soft whines against his lips.

"S'too much, too much.." You push his hand away with a whimper, your eyes barely open as you watch him lick his fingers clean like he did earlier. You shift under him, blinking your eyes as wide as you can, watching the way his tongue slid between his fingers. "See something you like?" He purrs against your lips, his wet fingers flicking your lower lip as you nod your head.

"You." Your voice is soft, and you see his eyes soften slightly as he smiles shyly. You wrap your legs around him, running a hand through his hair again, tugging slightly. "Want you." "You have me, baby." He kisses you chastely, relishing in the way you chase after his lips, huffing. "Kiss me like you mean it." You pull him closer, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth as he connects your mouths. The kiss is wet and messy, and you can feel him rolling his hips into you, the tip of his clothed cock rutting against your clit deliciously. But, you want it off.

"Take your pants off. Wanna feel you." You bite at his lips, and he moans, rutting against you like he can't stop. You whimper, your hips moving in tandem with his as you reach down and snap his waistband against his skin. "Fuck." Chan breathes against your jaw, shoving his pants and underwear down with one hand before he lets go of your hand, pulling them off fully with a hiss. He moves back up to kiss you, your nails digging into his back as you hold him close, your legs tight around his hips as he grinds his heavy cock against your wet heat. You're messy but that's how he likes it – your thighs twitch with overstimulation as he ruts his cock against you, leaning up to watch the way he leaks beads of precum onto your skin. "So fucking pretty." His thumb finds your clit, smirking at the way your thighs close slightly.

"So wet, too. Messy, messy girl." He grunts in your ear, "Can I put it in? Can you take it?"

"Please." You breathe out, making him meet your eyes. "Please what, baby?"

You scoff at his teasing smile, but you don't miss the adoration in his eyes as he plants a kiss to your lips. "Use your words."

You don't respond as you pout slightly, his lips brushing against yours. Your eyes are shy as he tries to find your gaze, a hiss from behind his teeth as your fingers reach between you to wrap around his shaft, his hands fisting the sheets around your head as you align him with your entrance.

"Please? Want you." Your eyes are wide and watery, too much for him to handle. 

He caves, moving your hand out of the way to sink into you –  his tip barely breaching your walls when you hear a whimper from Chan, his eyes glued to your glistening folds. Your head falls back with a groan as he slides in deeper, a whispered chant of fuck, fuck, fuck from his lips as you clench around him. You whine, digging your nails into his bicep as you push his hips down the rest of the way with your legs, hearing him groan at the way you swallow him perfectly.

"D-Don't, don't move. Just…wait." Your eyes are screwed shut, Chan's running all over your body. A singular bead of sweat runs down your neck, his fingers instinctively reaching to wipe it. You lean into his touch, your eyes still closed as you take his hand in yours, kissing his fingertips. "I love you." "I love you too, baby." He murmurs, and you shake your head as you lean your forehead to his, holding his hand to your chest. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, "This is how I feel every time I see you. There has never been a minute of my life that I haven't been so pathetically in love with you." He doesn't respond, his eyes glazed with unshed tears as yours open. You blink at him silently, your arms moving to wrap around his neck as you press a kiss to his nose, then his cheeks. "Obsessed with you." You mumble against his skin, feeling his hands wrap around your thighs with a shaky breath. "Missed you, my baby." Your admission is followed by a kiss to his lips, Chan's eyes fluttering shut as you drag your lips down his jaw. "I missed you, my love." He whispers in your ear, the pet name one he only used during your relationship. His teeth graze on your earlobe, before he plants a kiss on your neck as you run your fingers through his hair, pulling him to your lips. You slot your lips with his carefully, swallowing a whimper as you feel his hands push your thighs apart more. 

"Ready? Want me to go slow?" His voice is shaky, making you run a hand through his hair. "Whatever you want, baby."

He nods, giving an experimental roll of his hips – his chest swelling with pride as your eyes roll back with a soft groan. You let him set the pace, the delicious drag of his cock making your hands fist the sheets as your head falls back against the mattress. His fingers are bruising around your thighs, his eyes glued to your face, biting back his moans as you whine pathetically.

"Feel good?" He murmurs as he thrusts into you a little harder, before letting go of your thighs and pinning your hand above your head, interlacing your fingers. Your eyes are closed and you can barely feel your head nodding as your limbs buzz with lust, a moan meeting his neck as you mouth at it. "Need words, baby." He leans to nip at your lips, feeling your other hand tug at his hair. "Feels s'good, daddy, fuck.." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and Chan swears his brain short-circuits as he buries his face in your neck. He feels dizzy as he breathes in your perfume, hearing you whimper as he bullies his cock into you faster. 

“So. Fucking. Wet.” He groans, his teeth biting at any surface of your skin as he grips your hips bruisingly. "Missed you so much, baby. W-Wanna fill you up, shit. Make you mine f-forever." His ramblings are only slightly incoherent, your cheeks warming as if you're not both naked right now, the only thing remaining is your jewelry – all of which he's given you.

"Y-Yeah? Want it, want you to fill me up..." You rasp, tightening your legs around his waist as he whimpers loudly. Your fingers rake through his hair, pulling his head away from your neck and meeting his eyes. They're full of a certain craze you've only ever seen during your relationship, a dark look of lust that swirls from the depths of the brown in his irises that makes you shiver as you press your lips to his. It's messy and rough, his hand circling the base of your neck to steady himself. Your own wrap around his wrist, sliding your tongue into his mouth with practised ease. 

He sucks on your tongue messily, whining as you clamp down around him. You feel his hand loosen around your neck, sliding up to cup your face softly, your own moving to his back. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he thrusts into you, the tip of his cock brushing you just right that you moan into his mouth.

"Right there? There?" He pulls back, pistoning his hips into you as you nod frantically, your eyes filling with tears as your nails drag down his back. He tries not to close his eyes at the sensation, loving the way you bite down on your lip when his thumb pulls it out from under your teeth. "Wanna hear you, baby. Wanna know who's making you feel good." 

You can hardly speak through your whines, his vision going blurry as your nails dig into his hips. His lips find the shell of your ear, "Come on, baby. Tell daddy who's making you this wet." Your cheeks heat as you whimper into his skin, your lower lip dragging against his sweatslick cheek. You tug at the small silver hoop in his ear, "Y-You are. Always m-make me feel s'good, daddy. W-Wanna cum for you..." You trail off as his teeth nip at your neck, your voice reduced to breathy whines as he bites down on your chest. His tongue quickly licks over the indents of his teeth, as his hands move to your thighs, pushing them apart as he towers over you. Your eyes open only enough to see the wad of spit drip from his lips, your hips jolting as it slides down your clit. 

"Don't need it. Just like seeing you squirm, baby." He murmurs, pushing your knees to your chest as he continues to fuck into you. Your eyes fall on the ruddy blush on his cheeks, his own glued to the way your cunt swallows him perfectly. His fingers tighten around your legs, his lip tucked under his teeth as he screws his eyes shut, but you can't stop looking at him. The slope of his neck, littered with nips from your teeth that'll disappear by morning. His broad shoulders, slick with sweat and covered in deep, red marks from your nails. His chest, littered with faded love bites from the past few mornings waking up by his side. His forearms, flexing with every push of his hips, similar to the way they do when he holds you up against the shower wall. The sheen of your arousal on his fingers, the gold ring on his left hand that matches yours covered in a mix of spit and your cum. It's overwhelming, the way your insides feel fuzzy and the way your vision zeroes in on his ring, the glint in the moonlight mocking you.

"I can't wait to marry you." You mumble, covering your face with your arms as Chan jerks to a stop. You can still see him through a crevice in your arms, and you watch the way he swallows carefully. "W-What?" "I said, I can't wait to marry you." You repeat slightly louder, your eyes widening as you feel him twitch inside you. He scoffs quietly, "Babe, you can't say that." His eyes close, and you hear him take a deep breath as you sit up on your elbows.

"Why? I want to marry you." You huff, your mouth opening to say more when a sudden thrust from Chan's hips knocks the wind out of you. His whimper fills the room as he spreads your thighs out of habit, "I w-won't last if you say t-that." 

You can barely speak with the way he's drilling his cock into you, his thumb working tight circles into your clit as your head falls back against the sheets with pleasure. You manage to string your words together, your stomach filling with that familiar heat as you speak, "W-We have the rest of o-our lives, b-baby…" He whines loudly as his hips are flush to yours, shuddering slightly as he fills you with his release. He has a pout on his lips as he overstimulates himself through his orgasm, leaning into your soft whines, brushing his lips against yours. "I love you." He whispers as you clench around him, the band in your lower belly snapping as you whine pitifully as his hand slides in yours.

The air around you settles, Chan reaching to brush your hair out of your eyes and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I love you, baby." You nod loosely, a mumble of I love you tumbling against his clavicle. You feel him pull out slowly, a hiss from the both of you filling the silence. Wincing lightly, you go to sit up but his hand on your chest stops you. "Lie down." You don't question him as he slides one of your pillows under your head – but your brows are furrowed as he kisses down your body, sinking to his knees as he reaches the edge of your bed. You sit up slightly, "Chan, are you–" He doesn't reply, looking you in the eyes as he flattens his tongue against your sloppy cunt. Your eyes widen as he looks away, his arms wrapping around your thighs carefully. You're far too sensitive for this, but you can't seem to look away as he sucks your clit between his pouty lips. "You're fucking f-filthy, Lee Chan." "Open your mouth." He shrugs as he speaks into your skin, and you scoff out a laugh. He raises a brow as he looks up at you, making your cheeks flush. You sit up on your elbows, his arms pulling you closer to his face before fucking the wet muscle of his tongue into your spent hole. Your gasp is almost unnoticeable, your eyes starry as you watch him collect the mix of your releases in his mouth.

Your thighs tremble in his hands, your mind fuzzy with overstimulation as you whine softly. He pulls away, rising off his knees and sliding his thigh between yours as his hand finds your cheek. You instinctively open your mouth as he looks into your eyes, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he spits his release onto your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut at the taste, feeling him snake his tongue into your mouth in a wet kiss. He pushes you back against the pillow slowly, his hand moving from your cheek to interlace your fingers as his lips trail down your jaw.

"I think your parents are home." He murmurs, and you try your best to zero in on any sounds that could allude to such. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, "Do you want to stop?"

You don't respond, hearing the jingle of the doorknob as Chan tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. You cover your mouth as a breathy moan slips out, feeling Chan smile against your skin. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head frantically as you hear your mother sigh and the creak of the stairs under their footsteps. Your father's footsteps are heavy behind your mother's light ones, and you hear the door to their bedroom open, the hinges desperately in need of an oiling. It closes, and you breathe out carefully.

"I have so many questions but I can ask them later. Can you go again?" You mutter, feeling him scoff against your skin. "Is that how you're going to ask me?" "I can always just ride you until you cry like I did in the back of your car three years ago." You huff, feeling Chan pinch your hip. "Can you even hold yourself up?" He smirks down at you, making you furrow your brows.

"Watch me." "I intend to."

JANUARY 1, 5:44AM.

The only reason you and Chan stop is because he's made you soak through your sheets twice, the edge of your bed sopping wet as he carefully carries you into the bathroom. How he's even able to stand up is beyond you, your legs loosely wrapped around his bare waist as he leans to turn the water on in your shower.

You wince as he sets you down on the edge of the tub, his fingers expertly releasing the clasp on your necklace and draping it on your bathroom counter. "Don't want it to snag in your hair." He murmurs as he helps you back up, your legs hardly functioning as he makes you step into the tub. The hot water feels great against your hips, your lips parting against Chan's chest in a soft groan as he holds you to him. He laughs softly, and you feel the pads of his fingers digging into the sore muscles. "I'm sorry, baby. Maybe that last position was too much, hm?" "Fuck all the way off." You mutter, resting your cheek on his chest as he coos at you. "How's that for three ways to Sunday?" "Great. It was great, wonderful. If fucking someone three ways to Sunday was an Olympic sport, you'd win gold every time." You confess quietly, your eyes barely open as you hear him pop the cap of your shampoo. "You know, you talk a lot when we have sex." "Mmh, do I? What did I say?" You feel his fingers card through your hair, making him snicker. "For one, I think you're the one with the daddy thing. You said it more than once and I'm honestly a little impressed with your commitment to the bit…if it is a bit." "Shut up. Wash my hair like a good boyfriend." Your cheeks grow hot as he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to your hairline. "You also asked me when I'd marry you, and that you'd marry me tonight if you could." "When?" Your head snaps up to look at him, and he shrugs, a teasing smile on his lips. "If I recall correctly, you were face down–" "Enough." You turn away, pressing your forehead to his chest once more. "You're not supposed to make fun of me, I was vulnerable." "M'not making fun of you, baby. I'm absolutely enamored with you, I'd also marry you tonight if you'd allow it." He shrugs as he tilts your head back to rinse your hair, and you pout up at him. "I have a question." "Shoot." He feels your hands trace his torso, before you flick his hip. "What is this?" He looks down, the faded tattoo you'd been wondering about peeking through your fingers. He sighs, "It's a tattoo, babe. What else would it be?"

"Well for one, it's shitty. Second of all, of what?" You run your thumb over his skin, making him snort. "It is shitty, because I was drunk and I got it done with Soonyoung and Mingyu at their friend Seungcheol's apartment. It's also shitty because Seungcheol wanted someone to practice his fine line technique on and I was so wasted that I volunteered." "You've never been that reckless unless you're with me. Where was I? And what is it!?" You insist, and he snorts as he pours your body wash on your loofah. "It's your name. I kept saying it because I always think of you when I'm drunk and Seungcheol assumed it was what I wanted. It was actually very pretty when it was new, it's just faded now. There's a little red splotch somewhere, it was a heart."

He nods as you gape at him, "My name?" "It was two years ago. I was actually going to call you before Soonyoung threw my phone in the pool and told me I didn't deserve to call you if I wasn't going to beg for you back. I was always willing, I was just scared you'd reject me because of how much of a douche I'd been." "How'd you explain this to your hookups?" You blurt, and he smiles. "I didn't. They always knew. I don't know if you want me to talk about that, though. Your feelings are important to me and I was so shitty to you then." "You're a dumbass, both for not just talking to me and for getting this done at someone's apartment. You should get it redone at an actual parlor, I heard Hansol does tattoos now." You trace the faded ink, and he snorts. "I'd bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just branding me like that."

You don't say anything as he runs the sponge over your body, your eyes pointed as he scoffs. "But I'm the freak." "I counted thirty six positions, you are the freak. God forbid I want a little something to kiss before I go down on you." You roll your eyes, and you hear him choke as he pushes you back slightly under the water. "Careful, you'll sound like me if you keep that up." "Oh my God, I fucking asked you if I was too rough! You insisted I keep going!" He whines, landing a soft smack to your thigh as he washes your legs. You snicker, holding onto his shoulders, looking down at the red lines you'd inflicted. "Oh, your back is gonna hurt, babe." "Well worth it, in my opinion. I honestly thought I was going to lose my mind yesterday." He sighs as he stands upright, your arms wrapping around his waist as he presses a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get my shit together, my love." "You know you've never called me that outside of those two months we were together?" You murmur, and he nods. "Mmh. Can't call you something you aren't, can I? I mean, you'll always be the love of my life but you weren't exactly mine and I didn't deserve you then, anyway." "And you do now?" You ask softly, and he shakes his head as he switches you out to stand under the showerhead, wincing as the hot water hits his back. "No. I'm always going to be undeserving of you, especially after the shit I pulled. But I have no problem spending my lifetime proving that I love you."

You don't reply, holding onto him silently as he cleanses himself. Your eyes linger on the flexing of his muscles, the way his face twitches as your body wash stings the aftermath of your nails digging into his back. "I'll be nicer next time." You assure him as he rolls his eyes, a mumble of no you won't from his lips as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

The sun is beginning to peek into your bedroom by the time you and Chan exit, and you sit in your bathrobe as Chan strips your sheets. He makes your bed in silence, hiding his yawns with shakes of his head and fishing through your drawers for his old clothes. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old cheer shirt of his, tugging them on before easing your tired form into your own pajamas. You nearly trip as he slides your shorts up your legs, his fingers cheekily pinching the swell of your ass as you swat at him.

"Unlock the door." You remind him as he slides you under the fresh blankets, and he nods, his breath minty from your toothpaste as he presses a kiss to your nose. He unlocks it quietly, checking the time on his phone before sliding in next to you. "What time is it?" "Almost seven. Rosie's gonna barge in here." He mumbles as you settle on top of him, your head on his chest as his hand slips under your shirt with a sigh. "I love you." "I love you, Channie." You murmur into his shirt, your eyes heavy as he pulls you impossibly closer, planting a kiss on your cheek without a word.

3:41PM.

You're the first to wake up, feeling like a train hit you as your muscles take in the absolute marathon you put yourself through with Chan the night before. You grimace as your back pops, stretching carefully so as to not wake up your boyfriend – who is curled into your chest, his arm hanging off your hip. Biting back your smile, you carefully run your fingers through his hair before sighing inwardly. 

Sitting up slowly, you see something on your dresser. It's a framed photo, and a Polaroid tucked into the corner of the frame. You squint at it, unable to make out the shapes without rubbing at your eyes. Chan stirs next to you, a pout on his lips as he peels his eyes open. "Lay down, I'm cold."

"Hang on." You slide out of bed, wincing as you stand up. Your eyes land on the photo once more as you stand in front of your dresser, and it's you and Chan in a gold frame. It's the night of the Christmas Eve dinner, and it's slightly blurry but you can see the way you're smiling up at Chan shyly, and the way his eyes are starry as he looks down at you. It's the photo Rosie took, the one she didn't let you look at.

The Polaroid is also of you and Chan, in your bed with the same clothes you have on now. They must've walked in in the morning when neither of you responded, because you're both sound asleep in the photo. He's holding you close, and your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your promise ring glinting against his neck in the flash of the camera. Your foreheads are pressed together, cheeks flushed in the soft morning light.

The note sits under the frame, and you look closer at the frame. Between You and Me, it reads, and you feel your cheeks heat as you slip the note out.

We've been trying to teach Rosie how to be careful with her money, because your mother started giving her an allowance a few weeks ago. She wanted to get you a Christmas gift but didn't know what you liked, and instead of asking…she took your camera from when you were a little girl and snapped a photo of you and Chan at Christmas Eve dinner. She told me when we were getting the photos developed that she thought Chan was really important to you, and that she knew she was, too – so it was like a win-win situation, to give you a gift of the things you cherish the most.

She's pretty good at making something out of nothing, and she begged me to take her to that old thrift store you loved in high school. She found this frame near the old book section that you walked through a lot, too. So profound for a child, but I digress. The Polaroid is from me, consider it an apology for allowing your mother to make such insane bets when we all knew that the two of you were bound to fall in love. P.S. Rosie's pretty good at capturing beautiful moments. Do you think she'd make a good wedding photographer? ♡

– Dad.

Your vision is blurry as you feel the heat of Chan's body behind you, his fingers carefully picking the frame up and looking at it. "You're so in love with me." He murmurs, and you half expect to look up and see him smiling – but his face is serious, his thumb ghosting over your face in the photo. You swallow nervously as he stares at the photo, clearing your throat.

"I am. Is that…okay?" You whisper, and he nods silently, closing his eyes as he sets the photo down. "We're taking that home, right? We can't leave it here. I want to see it everyday." He's not looking at you, holding the Polaroid gingerly in his hand. You watch as he sets it back down, his fingers plucking the note from your hand, leaning against the dresser as he reads it. He's blinking back tears and you feel your chest warm as he sighs, running his hand over his face. "We need to get Rosie that Lego set your dad said no to. The really big one, what was it?" "Rosie has never even seen Titanic. She just wants it because she thinks the boat is cool, and my dad said no because it's seven hundred dollars." You snort, and he shakes his head. "Don't care. She needs it. I need to buy it, where are your keys?" 

"We'll take my dad's, I don't feel like moving her booster seat." 

You smile to yourself as your boyfriend hands you a pair of jeans to slide on as he roots around for his socks, and you quietly slip out of your bedroom after tugging them on. You see your parents sitting around your dining room table, a few drinks and a deck of cards spread out between the four of them. Rosie sits quietly in Mrs. Lee's lap as Mrs. Lee explains the game, and you clear your throat. "Good afternoon." You say softly, and the parents turn their heads to look at you. They're smiling, and Rosie lights up, wiggling out of Mrs. Lee's lap and running towards you. "Did you like my present!? I made it for you!" "I know, babycakes. I loved your present." You pick her up, holding her on your hip as she moves your hair out of your face. You turn to your father, who has a knowing look on his face. "You mind if I take her for a bit? Chan wants to buy her something." "No sugar. She got a filling this morning." Your mother murmurs over her cards, taking a sip of her drink as she nods. Rosie huffs in your grasp, about to protest when Chan appears behind you. "Hey. Ready?" 

His cheeks are ruddy as he greets your parents, and none of them say a word as you tug on your boots as he makes Rosie fetch her coat. She's nearly bouncing off the stairs as she runs back down, and Chan helps her put it on as she eagerly asks what she's getting and why she's getting it.

"Titanic." Chan shrugs, and your father nearly spits out his drink as you shove the two of them out of the door, grabbing his car keys off the hook. "Y/N! Don't buy her that, it's too expensive!" "Can't hear you, Pop! See ya!" You grin cheekily, slipping out the front door and seeing Chan and Rosie giggling as he buckles her into her seat. Your heart warms at the sight, and you make eye contact with Chan as he shuts the door. He smiles, tilting his head towards the passenger side door as he opens it for you. You climb in silently, his eyes watching your every move. "You okay?" "I love you."

EPILOGUE – JANUARY 7, 5:30AM.

"Do you have to go?" You'd already stayed four more days than you'd originally planned, and you were really cutting it close by driving back on a Sunday. Rosie's eyes are tired and pleading as you hold her on your hip, Chan struggling to shove the last bag into your trunk as you snicker. "We do, babycakes. But don't worry! I'll come home with Channie in April for your birthday! Isn't that fun?" "I guess." She pouts, resting her head on your shoulder. "Will you call me everyday?" "Yes, I'll call you everyday." You nuzzle your nose to hers as Chan huffs, slamming your trunk shut. "Babe, someday you're going to have to pack this car and you'll understand why I sleep on the way back to campus." He's red in the face as your mother ventures outside to retrieve your little sister, Mrs. Lee in tow with a bag full of goodies for the trip back to campus. You smile softly at your mother as she takes your now crying sister, your heart aching as you wipe her tears.

"Don't cry, Rosie. We'll be back soon, I promise." Chan nods, holding his pinky out for your little sister to take. She sobs into your mother's parka as she does so, and your mother gives you a warm smile. "You guys take care of each other, okay? No more breaking up!" "No more breaking up." You both repeat, your cheeks flushing as Mrs. Lee gives you both a hug goodbye. Your father appears, holding up two tumblers full of hot chocolate and Mr. Lee hands Chan an envelope. "Pocket money. Don't let Y/N starve on the way home, she told us you only fed her beef jerky." "I did not!" He begins to protest, but you clap your hand over his mouth with a wide smile. "Thank you, Mr. Lee. I appreciate you worrying about my appetite." The goodbyes are not nearly as sappy as they usually are, but you know it's because they're looking forward to graduation. It will approach fast, you know you'll lose yourself in the excitement of it all and best of all, Chan will be right there with you. You're in the car waving to Rosie until you turn the corner, before your shoulders sag against your seat. You pout, making Chan smile as he reaches to pinch your cheek.

"Rosie will be okay, baby." "I know, I know. I just wish I was around more to see her grow up. She won't think I'm as cool by the time I'm finally around to hang out and stuff." "Babe, she's seven this year. She's gonna think you're cool." He rolls his eyes as he stops at a red light, connecting his phone to the aux and handing it to you. You sigh, unlocking his phone to see a photo of you and Rosie at the Lego store on New Year's Day as his home screen, paired with the same sentimental baby picture that rested in your locket as his lock screen – that one never changed. You say nothing as your cheeks warm, opening his Spotify and pressing shuffle as he turns left to take the exit to get onto the expressway.

You both tense as you hear the beginning notes of Meddle About by Chase Atlantic. He gives you a sideways glance as the lyrics start pouring through, and you clear your throat quietly.

"There's an exit…up ahead. It leads–" "Into the woods, yeah. I'm just gonna–" "Yeah. Should I-" "Start taking your coat off, mhm." "Got it. Are you gonna–" "Yup. Didn't bring any condoms with me." Your cheeks flush as you queue the same stupid sex playlist you made three years ago as he silently takes the exit before the one for the expressway, tonguing his cheek as he drives into the still-dark solace of the woods. You have your shirt off by the time he finds the same spot you found three years ago, and by the time he kills the engine, you're in the backseat.

"Hey, Chan?" The opening notes of Kiss It Better by Rihanna fill the car as he all but rips his coat off.

"Yes, Y/N?" "I love you." He smiles, kissing you tenderly as he lays you down in your backseat.

"I love you, baby."

haologram © 2024 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[munsonsmixtapes]

What Is This Feeling?

Fiyero Tigelaar x fem!reader

summary: you and Fiyero mistake your attraction to each other as loathing.

From the moment you laid eyes on Fiyero, you loathed him. Your classes were important to you and it seemed like all he cared about was having fun which was obvious by the way he never paid attention in class and the fact that he had been kicked out of every other school he had been to. Everything was a joke to him. He never paid attention in class, always giggling with Glinda about whatever they talked about.

And Fiyero felt the same. He hated how seriously you took everything, never wanting to have just a little fun, which you think he had too much of. You were always either studying or taking some sort of notes. He didn’t understand why you were always so focused on your studies, why you were so tightly wound. He was wondering if he could help you with that somehow.

It seemed like the two of you made your rivalry everyone else’s problem, constantly arguing during meals or in the class you had together, always disrupting the peace between all of the other students. It seemed like everyone but the two of you thought that your feud had been a little silly. And maybe it was, but neither of you saw it that way.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Fiyero was only doing the whole thing just to get a rise out of you. He just wanted to push your buttons, partly because of how easy it was to rile you up, but mostly because you were just so hot when you were angry. There were so many times when he was close to pushing you up against the wall and kissing you stupid. But he never did. He couldn’t. You clearly didn’t like him and a kiss between the two of you would have only ever remained a fantasy.

And because of how obvious it was how into you Fiyero was, Glinda made it her mission to make you no longer a romantic option for him. So she made multiple attempts to set you up with other students at Shiz, but to no avail. You could see what she was doing and didn’t know why it was so important for her to get rid of you when you didn’t even like Fiyero like that anyway. How clear did you have to make it to her that he was all hers.

But still, because she wasn’t totally wicked, Glinda invited you to the Ozdust Ballroom where a lot of the other students were going to do that night. And even though you were suspicious of her intentions, you still decided to go, putting on your prettiest dress and hopping on the last boat that was going to take you to the destination.

The second you got inside, you descended the stairs, completely fascinated by the place, completely unaware of the way Fiyero was looking at you, like you had hung the moon. He was so captivated by you and the pretty blue dress you were wearing that caught the light perfectly. He had to have you and he had to have you right then. It was killing him knowing that you could have possibly gone back to someone else’s room and slept with someone who wasn’t him.

You were distracted by his outfit as you approached him. It was covered in different shapes and bright colors and you couldn’t believe how good it looked on him, almost as if it were made for him specifically. And knowing Fiyero, it probably was.

You’d never tell him, but he looked good, hot, even. He always did and you hated how good he always looked on everything he wore, how he made the school uniform work for him.

“Y/n,” he and Glinda said at the same time, his tone soft, his smile bright, while Glinda looked very unhappy to see you there, sounding nothing but surprised to see you there despite being the one who invited you.

“What are you doing here?” She asked as if reading Fiyero’s mind. This didn’t seem like your kind of scene, but then his eyes caught onto the book in your hand and he couldn’t help but smile at how cute he thought you were. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and you brought a book? The two of you couldn’t have been more different.

“You invited me,” you reminded the blonde and Fiyero whipped around to look at her in confusion.

“Did you?” He asked, genuinely confused as to why she would have done that since she had been about as subtle as a gun about how much she had disliked you.

“I did,” Glinda nodded with a smile, hoping, praying that it will score her some brownie points with the man standing next to her. Her arm hooked around his, but he quickly pulled away, offering his hand to you, completely catching both you and Glinda off guard.

“Would you like to dance with me, Miss l/n?” he asked and you leaned to the side to lock eyes with the blonde, silently asking if it was okay. She nodded, accepting defeat and Fiyero led you over to the floor where the other dancing bodies were gathered.

You didn’t know what you were doing nor why you were doing it with Fiyero, but you had to admit that you were intrigued. You thought he was into Glinda so you didn’t know why he had offered the invitation to you. That was one thing you were finally going to figure out. Well, two, since you wanted to know so badly why he had disliked you.

You tried to move to the beat as you hugged your book to your chest, wanting to protect it as you moved back and forth, trying to not get hit by the people around you. Fiyero let out a laugh and gently took the book from you, stuffing it into the pocket inside his jacket for safekeeping before taking your hands, pulling you to him.

You tried to follow his dancing as he moved so fluidly, something you could never do. And Fiyero wanted to help, wanted to show you just how easy it was to move the way that he did, especially when he was holding onto you.

Fiyero hesitantly hovered his hands over your waist as if asking permission and you nodded, deciding to give it to him. His hands rested on your hips gently and he moved them back and forth the way he was, both of you looking down at the way he was helping you dance. It wasn’t a way you had ever done it, so fluid and…pretty.

“Just like that,” he said and went to let go, but you grabbed his arms, holding his hands in place. You couldn’t let him go, not then.

“Stay,” you tell him, your voice soft for the first time when it came to speaking to him. “Please.”

“Of course,” he nodded, not able to fight the smile on his face as the two of you moved together around the dance floor.

Before that night, you never would have imagined talking to, let alone dancing with Fiyero as he spun you around the dance floor, the two of you laughing as you did so. You were actually having fun and you realized that when you weren’t arguing with him, Fiyero was actually really funny and sweet.

He spun you out and once he spun you back in, you found yourself pressed up against a wall, gasping as you took in the position he had put you in. You watched his eyes ick back and forth from your lips back to your eyes and you pressed yourself against the wall even further.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked and even though it should have been obvious by his staring at your mouth, your eyes widened at his question.

“Fiyero-“ you cut yourself off, unsure how to answer him, unsure as to why you wanted to let him kiss you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “I should have-“ before he can get too far, you grab onto the collar of his jacket and pull his face down to yours, slotting your lips between his before pulling away, fully aware of what you’d just done.

“I’m sorry.” Now you’re the one to apologize and Fiyero smiles in response.

“Don’t be,” he shook his head. “That was-do that again.” You do as he says and grab onto his collar, kissing him again, but this time for longer and with more intention. He was quick to respond, wrapping his arms around your waist as he smiled against your lips since this was what he’d been wanting for a while now.

His lips were pillowy soft and you’re convinced that you could kiss him for hours and not get tired of it. And Fiyero seemed to want the same as he helped you wrap your legs around him as he licked into your mouth, letting it roam around.

You let out a moan, your hands moving to his hair as he pulled you away from the wall, the two of you disappearing down the hallway as he took you somewhere more private. You were still holding onto him as he pressed you into a corner, trying to hide you from the other party goers. He wanted you all to himself and couldn’t bear the thought of you in another man’s arms.

“What are we doing?” You asked and Fiyero didn’t like your tone. It was demanding, almost accusatory. You were so sweet just a moment ago and now that fire, the pure hatred was back in your eyes.

“I thought we were kissing,” he replied with a laugh, his hands resting on your waist. Your face twisted into a glare and that only made him want to laugh more, but he was more set on making you smile again. He liked seeing it and wished you would do it more often. At least, for him.

“I mean this,” you referred to him then yourself. “We hate each other, Fiyero.”

“I’ve never hated you,” he corrected. “In fact, I really like you. I was only teasing you because you’re pretty hot when you’re mad, especially at me. I actually happen to think you’re sweet.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “And smart.” Your other cheek. “And fucking gorgeous.” This time, your lips, a gentle, featherlight touch, giving you every chance to push him off. But you didn’t. You just stood there, letting Fiyero kiss you before he pulled away.

You were glad he was still holding onto you because if he hadn’t been, you would have melted at his words. You never thought he felt that way about you and knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of you because he thought you were hot when you were mad only made your panties damp.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled away, an apologetic look on his face. Now you felt silly for being mad at him when all the hating was one-sided. And deep down, you didn’t even really hate Fiyero. As you had gotten to know him, the hatred quickly faded, but you were forced to pretend that you disliked him because feeling any other way towards him felt odd.

But now that you were looking at him, that soft look on his face, everything but comfort and fondness melted away and all you could do was kiss him, smiling into it as soon as your lips touched his.

“What is this feeling?” You asked against his lips and Fiyero chuckled.

“I believe it’s called love,” he replied, setting you down on your feet and taking you by the hand. “Now come on, my love, let’s go somewhere more private.”

And Fiyero led you somewhere you could be alone, talking about everything and nothing between kisses, holding each other in your arms, deciding that was the only place you wanted to be for the rest of your lives.

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

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[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 5)

Agatha takes you back to her house after the realization that you may have been responsible for the recent murders

Word count: 5200

Warnings: murder, purposeful thumb dislocation, violence

A/N: this got so long so fast so I had to split this chapter into 2 parts so as of right now I'm planning for 3 more parts

You can’t stop your teeth from chattering as you slide into the passenger seat of Agatha’s car. She followed you back to the motel so you could leave yours there, her headlights shining onto you the entire time, reminding you that she was right behind you.

Her lingering presence is ominous, rather than comforting. You just can’t put your finger on why.  

You’re not cold. The opposite, really. Your body is running hot, perspiration gathering on your forehead, but you’re shaking like a leaf. She turns up the heat, but you immediately reach over and turn it off. 

“I didn’t do it,” you say, but you’re not even sure if you believe it yourself. 

Agatha snorts. “Still think you’re being framed by The Witch and Lady Death?” She asks, and your heart spikes. Rio and her have been talking. Perhaps this whole time. Does she also know her wife drugged you? 

“Maybe,” you try to argue, but you know it’s just false hope at this point. How would they have gotten his blood under your nails? 

But how could you have killed him? You were completely unconscious the whole time. 

The knife from your motel found at the crime scene. Rio washing your clothes and being secretive about what was on them. And now this. 

You know you used to sleep-walk, but is sleep-murder a possibility? 

“Why did you want me to see it first?” You question, now latching onto something else. Agatha is a detective, she should’ve called the rest of the squad as well as you. 

Does she know more than she’s letting on? 

I’m just curious about something is what Rio said as she watched you succumb to sleep. 

What is going on? 

Agatha’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and you’re momentarily distracted by remembering what they felt like inside you. Her fingers, Rio’s mouth, together? “Just wanted to see how you’d react,” she finally says, and it snaps you out of your fantasy about them. 

“Rio drugged me earlier,” you tell her, watching her face closely for any sign of recognition or confusion. 

She remains neutral. “Oh?” 

You grit your teeth. They are both so good at keeping their cards to their chests. “Neither of you think I’m being framed. You seemed pretty certain that the body from yesterday wasn’t from them, that it was someone new.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think I killed both of them?” 

You’re not capable of that. There’s no possible way you did. But you want to hear what she thinks. 

“I think,” she pauses to choose her words carefully. “I think that I believe you when you say you think you didn’t do it.” 

“I couldn’t have,” you say weakly, needing more than anything for it to be true. 

She glances at you with pity. “We all think we couldn’t. People can surprise you.” The look on her face matches the darkness outside. Is she speaking from experience? 

The drawer opens and your fingers wrap around the handle of one of the knives. 

“I didn’t do it,” you insist. 

You park by the woods and ask the first man you see for help finding your dog who ran into the trees. He’s wearing a flannel and pants, and has the most brilliant blue eyes. 

Agatha reaches over to pat your leg. 

The kitchen knife cuts his legs surprisingly well and he slumps back against the trees, blood rushing from his wounds. You get immense pleasure in watching the cerulean in his eyes fade. But it’s not enough. You want to send a message: a heart on his chest. A nod to the shape drawn on the sticky note from The Witch and Lady Death, and to their calling card. 

A whimper tears its way out of your throat and you clamp a hand over your mouth. Agatha hears it and looks over, raising an eyebrow. “You okay, superstar?” 

Your head is spinning. Are these memories real, or not real? Is your mind playing tricks on you?

The femoral arteries were too quick, too easy. You need something more. It’s only too easy to lure this man into the woods. 

“I don’t know,” you gasp out. You’re hyperventilating now. You were supposed to protect this town, stop the killers, but instead, you became one. 

Plunging the knife into his throat sent a thrill like you’ve never felt before tingling down your spine. You drag it down, grunting with the effort, but the blood pours out and you’re breathless. The red on the white snow is almost angelic. 

What have you done? 

Memories, dreams, images, whatever they are, come rushing into your brain, almost completely overwhelming you. 

You killed them. 

Were you really unconscious, or were you just erasing the memories to protect yourself? 

But you were asleep, at least at first. Did you wake up and decide to go on a murder spree? How does that even happen?

“Pull over,” you demand. Agatha scoffs but you say it again, more sternly. Your entire body feels awful and you know what’s about to come. 

Thankfully she obeys, and the second her car screeches to a halt, you’re throwing open the door and barely making it two steps away before you double-over and retch, puking your guts out. It burns your throat and your lungs ache, but it feels like you’re cleansing your body.

Agatha quickly runs over to you and holds back your hair while you continue to vomit. She rubs gentle circles on your back and then you’re finally able to stand up and breathe normally. 

“Did you know after the first one?” You say, wiping your mouth and turning to face her. 

She shrugs, but there’s an affirmative glint in her eyes. “Figured you were bound to snap eventually. Didn’t realize how drastic it would be until Rio told me about the bloody clothes you had her wash.” 

You’d throw up again if there was anything left in your stomach. She 

But she’s not done yet. 

“And then we got the call about the body with all the blood and I had a hunch. But you not knowing anything gave me a bit of pause,” she admits, swiping her thumb on your lip affectionately. “Thought you were just a really good actor. But then you said you’d been sleeping for the past few hours, so I wondered.”

You cough, still tasting acid. Things still aren’t adding up. She fucked you after thinking you murdered someone? “Why didn’t you turn me in?” Not complaining exactly, but why have they been holding onto this? “Is that why Rio drugged me? She wanted to see if…I’d what? Murder someone else?” 

Agatha tilts her head back and forth, like she’s partly agreeing, and you back up from her, the gears in your brain turning. She gives you a look as if to say Really? and starts advancing towards you. You put your hands out to stop her and flinch, and she freezes. 

“If you’re feeling better, get back in the car,” she orders, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. She takes one more step and stops an inch away from you, eyebrow raised like she’s anticipating your next move, and you gulp before obeying. “Good girl,” she says in a low voice, closing the door on you, and you hate the way your body betrays you. 

She gets into the driver’s seat and locks the doors and it makes your heart lurch. Why do you feel so unsafe right now? 

The key gets turned in the ignition but the car won’t start. “Fuck,” Agatha swears, turning it again and again. Panic starts to climb and settle into every crack and crevice in your body; what if you have to spend the night with Agatha on the side of the road? 

What if you fall asleep and accidentally kill her? 

Is that something you do now? Can you just never sleep for the rest of your life? 

The engine finally clicks and turns on, just taking a bit longer in the snow. But Agatha is almost out of gas, so she pulls into the next gas station she finds on the way to her house. 

“Have you eaten?” She asks gruffly, something seemingly changed in the air between you. 

The moment she brings up food, your stomach grumbles. You can’t remember the last time you ate. Tony would kill you, if you had heard from him at all. It’s weird he hasn’t called you back yet. Unfortunately, you have been sleeping though. You’re not sure if he would be proud. 

Agatha gets out of the car and slams the door and you quickly scramble out too. “We’ll go get you something to eat after I’m done filling up.” 

“I can just run in now,” you offer, desperately needing a moment to yourself. You can’t breathe next to Agatha right now. 

She scoffs and presses the pump into her car. “You’re a mess, superstar. I can’t risk you confessing to her about what you’ve done, or worse.” 

You bite back a sarcastic comment, still weary of her mood shift, and you tap your foot until the pump stops. She follows you into the station, watching carefully as you pick up a slice of pizza from the hot food area. You snag a drink and walk to the cash register, where a woman is snapping her gum. 

“Hi,” you say politely, putting your stuff down. Agatha’s hot breath is on your neck. “Oh, and can I get these too?” You quickly slap down a container of cinnamon mints. 

She looks you up and down, and winks. “On the house,” she says and Agatha steps even closer to you. The cashier’s eyes flicker to her. “Anything for your mom?” 

Agatha practically growls behind you and yanks your head back by your hair so she’s able to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You try to pull away in shock, but she holds you there and slides her tongue into your mouth. You can still taste the little flap of skin from where you bit her when she fucked you. 

After she’s sufficiently stolen all the air from your lungs, she stops and grabs your pizza and drink from the counter. “Come, pet,” she says in a low voice that makes you hotly tingle all over and you make brief eye contact with the cashier, who looks severely taken aback. You wonder if you look as flushed as you feel. 

“Sorry about that,” you say sheepishly, face hot, and slap a ten dollar bill on the counter, scampering after Agatha. “What the fuck was that?” You call after her, and she whirls around, face contorted into something scary.

“Get. In. The. Car,” she demands, seething, anger radiating off her in waves and almost knocking you back. 

There’s silence the rest of the way to her house as you eat your pizza. It’s a cute two-story house, hedges trimmed neatly out front, and another car in the driveway. 

Your heart begins to race at the thought of seeing Rio again, at the thought of dealing with them together. 

What are you doing here? Are they going to blackmail you? What could they want from you? 

You trail Agatha to the front door and then into the kitchen, where Rio is trimming a bouquet of flowers in a vase. Yellow, blue, red, and a flash of purple. 

Brows furrowing, you try to get a closer look but Rio steps to the side, unknowingly blocking your view. 

“Hey, Aggie,” she says, her back still to you. The glimpse into domesticity and the nicknames makes you feel a longing pang inside you. 

In the past, girls had been too put off by your line of work, by your fascination with female serial killers, even by the scar on your stomach. You just wanted someone that could accept every part of you. 

Agatha walks over, leaving you standing awkwardly in the entrance, and presses a kiss to Rio’s cheek, murmuring something in her ear. Rio’s body stiffens and she turns around, a wide grin stretching over her face when she sees you. 

“Welcome, doll,” she says and you fight the urge to run away. She motions to a fresh batch of cookies cooling on the stove. “Want one?” 

You don’t budge. “Did you poison them too?” 

Rio’s head tosses back with a laugh and Agatha smirks bemusedly. “Touché,” Rio says, grabs one, and chomps on it. She brushes her hands free on the crumbs once she’s done and holds them up to show you that she didn’t lace them. 

“What am I doing here?” You ask, wanting to cut to the chase. There’s some ulterior motive, one you just don’t know of yet. 

Both of them beckon you to follow them into the living room. They sit on the couch and you sit in the chair facing them. 

“‘What am I doing here?’” Agatha mocks in a deep voice and you roll your eyes. 

Rio takes all of you in, eyes flicking up and down your body several times. “Such a trivial question. Why don’t you ask something better than that?”

You think about it for a moment. What do you really want to know? “Did I kill those men?” 

“Boring. Ask something you don’t already know the answer to,” Rio criticizes and your cheeks burn. 

“Why did I?” It comes out quieter than you intended, your voice breaking. 

The two of them finally look interested. “Why do you think?” Rio asks, ever the therapist. 

“I…don’t know,” you say lamely.

Agatha snorts. “Come on, superstar, we know you’re smarter than that. Use that brilliant brain of yours.”

Knife from the drawer. Slicing through fabric to cut the arteries. Hearing a squelching sound when you plunge it into the chin. 

Blood.

More blood. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

You jolt. Fire? “I think…” You trail off, feeling shaken by the new revelation. Is the fire something that happened in the past, or something that’s about to come? 

“Yeah?” Agatha whispers, leaning forward. 

You try to search your head for the answer. “I think I wanted to know what it felt like,” you say slowly, testing the words on your tongue, still not completely sure if they’re right. 

You’re remembering more of the murders, remembering being in a trance-like haze when you woke up, getting into your car, coming back to the room after, stripping naked from the bloodstained clothes and scrubbing your skin in the shower until it stung. And then laying back down. 

Some sort of psychosis? Or just your unconscious mind fulfilling one of your darkest fantasies? 

Rio’s breath hitches. “And? How did it feel?” 

“It felt…powerful,” you say, and you know what the feeling in the woods with Agatha was now. It was the feeling of taking in your own work, seeing what you had done, somehow remembering the feeling even when you didn’t remember doing it. 

Agatha licks her lips, her eyes dark. “Holding their life in your hands, it’s a sensation like no other. That control makes you feel like a god, doesn’t it?” 

The way she phrases it sounds like she knows how it feels. How could she? 

Can you brush it off to her being a detective? Surely she’s had to make a decision like that once in her career, but there’s a nagging in the back of your mind that is sounding alarm bells. 

You cautiously look back and forth between them, between their faces with an indescribable hunger, and things start to come together. 

The Witch and Lady Death. 

Lovers, two brunettes, one thinner and taller, the other shorter and fuller. Just like Rio and Agatha.

Both Agatha and Rio were so convinced that there was a different killer. 

Both Agatha and Rio knew that you killed someone, even before you did, yet neither of them made any effort to get you in trouble. 

If anything, they pushed you to do it again. 

Rio said she wasn’t The Witch, but you hadn’t asked if she was Lady Death. 

Which means…

Agatha is The Witch. Rio is Lady Death. And you’re in their home, with both of them.

It’s ingenious though, really. Being the lead detective on a case trying to catch yourself, able to throw a wrench into any leads that the squad may happen to get. 

That must be why she was so nitpicky with all your theories. She knew all the right details the entire time.

Although, it never really seemed like she was shooting you down, it was almost like she was guiding you. 

Did she want you to catch them?

And Rio, being your therapist to find out more about you, get inside your head and understand how the profiler on their case thinks. 

You’d almost be impressed if you weren’t scared for your life right now. 

The only question is: why? 

Why murder all those people? Why break into your motel room and leave you all that stuff? Why help you in catching them, if that’s truly what they’ve been doing? 

Why not just kill you already? Unless that’s what they’re planning on doing tonight. 

“Can I, uh, use your bathroom?” You ask, praying they can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. 

They’re both regarding you with careful looks. “Second door on the left,” Agatha says, pointing down a hallway. You nervously smile and try to walk normally out of sight. 

Just make it to the bathroom, you chant. Then you can text Tony, text the police chief, text anybody. If you can keep up the pretenses, you might be able to hang on until reinforcements come. 

But as you’re walking by the first room on the left, you see that the door is ajar ever the slightest. 

You shouldn’t. You should go to the bathroom and get help. You absolutely should not open this door. 

It creaks as you push it open and you stop breathing, waiting to hear footsteps or one of them asking if you’re okay. 

Nothing. 

The door is open just wide enough for you to slip in now, and you can’t help the loud gasp that escapes your mouth. 

Purple azaleas are in a vase on the table, along with vials upon vials. Information about every single person in Westview on one wall, red circles highlighting either victims or a list. 

But what’s most startling is the shrine they have for you on the big wall. Pictures of you, case files, every piece of information accessible that concerns you is plastered there. 

They know exactly who you are. They’ve known. 

Fighting the nausea that climbs into your throat, you step closer. There’s something that draws your attention in the bottom left area, a medical record with your name on it from Salem, Massachusetts almost fifteen years ago. You don’t remember ever being in the hospital when you lived there. 

You bend down to see what it says and 

Snow. 

The frozen creek. 

Laughter and red birds when you step on a stick. 

The person whirls around, long dark hair flipping with the momentum, blue eyes cutting through the darkness. 

Fire. Sparks fly and land at your feet, hissing in the snow. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice says behind you and you spin so fast you almost fall over. Agatha and Rio are standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “Guess the secret’s out.”

But you don’t care about that. 

Because the woman from your memory has a name now. 

“It was you,” you accuse, jabbing a finger towards Agatha. The face in the flashes was a bit younger, but you’d know her anywhere now. 

A cold feeling sinks into you when she bares her teeth in a smile. “I see my wife’s techniques have been efficient.” 

Your head starts to pound. “How…?” 

“Why don’t we go back into the living room and we can talk about this?” Rio suggests gently. 

“So you can kill me?” You spit, completely disoriented. How did you know Agatha fifteen years ago? Why didn’t you remember? 

What did she do to you? 

Agatha scoffs. “Really, you think if we wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be dead already? Honey, we could’ve had your heart the instant you stepped into town.” 

Your hand grabbles at your belt, trying to grab onto the gun that isn’t there. 

Fuck. 

You ran out of your room in such a hurry earlier that you forgot to grab it. 

“So what do you want from me?” You ask, trying to sound even the slightest bit braver than you feel. You fail. 

“We want you to join us,” Rio says, being uncharacteristically straight forward. “We see you and what you’re capable of. We’ve known it. We want you, all of you.” 

You shake your head. “No, absolutely fucking not. You two are crazy. I don’t know how you know me, or what happened in the woods all those years ago, but I would rather die than kill more people with you.” 

They both sigh like they were afraid you’d say that. They start to walk over to you and you feel prey being stalked, being hunted. 

“What are you–” 

Agatha shushes you. “You’re just confused, superstar. But don’t worry. We’ll give you some time to think about it.” 

And then they grab you and drag you kicking and screaming upstairs into their bedroom. 

This is it. This is how you’re going to die. 

“Wait, wait!” You scream as they throw you onto their bed. “I’ll do it.” You can pretend, you can make them think you want it until you can get out. 

Rio bends over and grabs your chin, scanning your teary eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re an FBI profiler and you’re still such a bad liar,” she tuts, roughly pushing your face away. 

Your body goes numb while they stretch your arms out and pull handcuffs – real handcuffs – from the nightstands and cuff you to the bedposts. 

Agatha smirks and waves the key in front of your face and you snap at it with your teeth. She chuckles darkly and puts it on the nightstand, just out of reach. 

“We’ll be back later, pet,” she says. “We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them, and then The Witch and Lady Death are going to strike again.” 

Rio cackles and then picks up the bottom half of her skeleton mask and holds it to her face, widening her eyes at you. You strain against the handcuffs until they sting your wrist but you don’t stop struggling as they walk out of the room and close the door behind them. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You are absolutely reeling. You met Agatha when you were ten years old. Something happened, something with fire? And the medical file from then, is that related? 

It can’t be a coincidence that you’re here now, working on a case in which she’s a killer. 

What happened that made you want to think like a killer? It’s the question that Rio asked when you first met her, that she swore she didn’t but now you think she was just fucking with you. 

You didn’t know the reason, couldn’t remember it at the time, but that was what made you start having these flashes of repressed memories. 

Is Agatha the reason? 

Did you see her kill someone at ten years old, but then your brain blocked it out because it was too traumatic? And then you spent the rest of your life determined to figure out what made her do that? 

It seems to make sense. 

It still doesn’t answer the real question as to what they want with you, and why they went through all this trouble. 

But you’re not going to find anything else tied up in their bed. 

The Basic Field Training Course at Quantico taught you several important things, like how to fire a gun and how to read a person’s posture and how to solve a case. But perhaps the most valuable lesson to you now was learned from a classmate, who taught you how to dislocate your thumb. 

Jimmy Woo had dislocated his thumb twice during lacrosse in high school so he could now do it whenever he wanted. It still hurt obviously, but the damage was less serious, it was easier to dislocate, and it was much easier to pop back in. 

All it took for him to teach you was a six pack of beer. You didn’t know exactly why you were so set on being able to, but you couldn’t be happier now. 

You remember the first time you did it. It had taken four shots of vodka to get your courage up before bending it back on a table. The ligaments had strained, not wanting to give, but through sweat and tears, you had persisted. 

Jimmy immediately took you to the clinic to get it wrapped up and you told them you had done it while throwing a ball with Jimmy. 

You’d only done it a few more times, but it got to the point where you could do it with minimal crying and could relocate it by yourself. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you duck your chin down to grab ahold of your sweater between your teeth to have something to bite down before positioning your left thumb against the bedpost. Better to do it with your non-dominant hand, Jimmy always said. 

You can almost hear him encouraging you as tears spill down your cheeks and your whimpers are muffled. 

Pressing harder, a slight sheen of perspiration breaks out on your head. Fuck, you’d forgotten how much it hurts. 

Finally, finally, there’s the desired pop and pain floods up your hand. It almost entirely overwhelms you and 

Snow. 

Frozen creek. 

The woman turns toward you and looks surprised to see someone else in the woods with her. 

She waves to you and you’re pulled forward by an invisible string. When you get closer to where she’s partially hidden by shadows, you see she’s not alone. 

A younger woman with pale skin, dark hair, and wide hazel eyes. 

But there’s another woman too. 

The throbbing in your thumb pulls you out of the flashback. 

Rio.

Rio was there, too. You’ve met both Agatha and Rio before.

But you don’t know who the other woman is; you didn’t even get a good look at her. 

Focus on that later, you tell yourself, whining as you gingerly pull your hand out of the cuff. You lean over and snatch the key off the nightstand and quickly unlock the other cuff. It hurts like hell to use your dislocated thumb to turn the key, but you don’t know how else you’d use it. You take another slow, deep breath before popping that thumb back in. 

After moving it around and massaging it to get the blood flowing back in, you scramble off the bed and run downstairs. 

You need to go back to your motel room and get your gun, not even bothering to look and see if they have any, but first you need to go back into their room downstairs and see if there’s any hints about where they might be going. 

It appears that all the photos that have red circles on them are past victims, so you have absolutely no idea where they might be. 

You’re about to leave the room and go back to the motel when you remember the medical file from Massachusetts. It looks like they have pictures of a copy; how would they even get that? 

But you bend down to read it and a searing pain splits through your forehead. It hurts so bad it forces your eyes shut and you’re only able to comprehend a few words and phrases. 

Hypothermia…18 hours in the snow. 

Pneumonia. 

Head-induced trauma caused retrograde/post-traumatic amnesia. 

The pain in your head brings you to your knees as you try to make sense of the record. You remember learning about types of amnesia in your psych classes, and retrograde means you can’t remember things that happened before the accident. 

Is that why there’s a block? Or is it because of something you saw in the woods? 

Nothing is adding up. 

Why didn’t your parents ever tell you about this? Is this the reason you left Salem so quickly? 

The throbbing in your head has leveled down to a dull ache and you’re able to stand up. This is all connected somehow, you just don’t know how. 

What you do know is that you need to find them and stop them. 

You dig around the drawers in the kitchen to find a set of keys to Rio’s car, you’re guessing, and you’re peeling out of their driveway, not even caring about the speed limits. You blow through stop signs and red lights, but it’s late enough that no one else is on the road. 

Throwing the car into park once you get back to the motel, you shoulder open the door to your room and come to a halt. 

It’s the smell that hits you first. 

A sickly sweet honeysuckle scent wafts into your nose and you almost retch. Purple azaleas litter the floor in a path from the front door to the bedroom door, candles lit on both sides like a romantic rendezvous. 

They were already here. How could they have known you’d come back? Are they in the other room? 

Heart pounding, you gulp before reaching for your gun on the table and cautiously stepping toward the bedroom. You close your eyes and say a little prayer that you’re not about to be killed, and you kick it open. 

There’s more azaleas, and enough candles to perform a ritual. Your gaze scans the room, breaths getting shorter and shallower. 

And then you see the bed and your hands clamp over your mouth in order to smother the cry that comes out involuntarily. 

It’s the woman from the gas station, sprawled out like a starfish, completely naked from the waist up. There’s a lace from one of your pairs of shoes wrapped tightly around her neck, face tinted blue. 

Your body violently shakes as you walk over to her and you see her chest. 

The letter “O” is carved around her right breast. The letter “U” around her left. “R” is carved into the right side of her stomach, and “S” into the left. 

OURS. 

We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them. 

Ignoring the heat running through your body, you spot a notecard clenched in her hand and you wrench it out. 

On one side, it says: Sorry, baby. Xoxo. On the other side, there’s an address. 

You know it’s a trap, like this right here was, and like everything else may have been, but what choice do you have? 

Your fingers tighten on your gun and you get back into Rio’s car, punching the location into your phone. 

This ends tonight. 

[rizzanon]

silly little sanaerio that came to me in a dream (literally)

reader tries to sneak out to go to the park with caitlyn and adrien and gets caught by damien

to shut up damien reader takes him with them and they all go park tgt idfk

damien refuses to admit he wanted to just spend time with reader , he wasnt actually gonna snitch

when sneaking back in they all domino onto eachother (reader walks in first then stops beecause ruh roh they got caught) and damien bumps into reader, caitlyn bumps into adrien and eyeah

tgis prollh doesng make sensw idk what im on abt tyoing this half aslddp

-🍰

HELLO WHAT?? I LOVE THIS (although this exact scene won’t happen, i think it’s cute that damian is forcing reader to let him tag along so that he won’t snitch—literally younger sibling core and there will definitely be a moment or two like in this undoing fate (for the bants/fluff) lol)

reader: (quietly tries to sneak toward the back entrance of Wayne Manor, bag slung over your shoulder)

Damian: (from the shadows) And just where do you think you’re going?

reader: (startles, spinning around) Damian?! What the— What are you even doing here?

Damian: (arms crossed) The better question is: what are you doing? Sneaking out like some common criminal. Suspicious, don’t you think?

reader: I’m just going to the park to meet Caitlyn and Adrien, okay? It’s no big deal. Go back to brooding or whatever it is you do.

Damian: Tch. You’re sneaking out to meet those two? Again? Does Father even know about this?

reader: (glaring) Do you know how to mind your own business?

Damian: I could let this slide… or I could inform Father. Imagine his reaction when he hears about this little escapade of yours.

reader: You wouldn’t dare.

Damian: (raising an eyebrow) Try me.

reader: (groaning, pinches the bridge of your nose) Fine. You want to come? You can come. Just don’t ruin it for me, okay?

Damian: …..Hmph. I suppose I could accompany you. Someone has to keep you out of trouble.

reader: (mutters) Yeah, because I’m the one who causes trouble.

(You and Damian reach the park where Adrien and Caitlyn are waiting for you)

Caitlyn: Took you long enough. (gaze shifts to Damian) Oh, you brought company.

Damian: (flatly) I assure you, I did not want to be here. Someone needed to supervise you lot.

reader: (rolling eyes) Oh, please. He just didn’t want me to have fun without him.

Damian: (sharply) I don’t care about your fun. I have better things to do.

Adrien: (teasing) Sure, sure. And yet here you are.

Caitlyn: (grinning) Well, since you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. Or at least try.

Damian: (grumbling) I’m not here to enjoy anything.

[pretend you all hangout at a nearby night fun fair, and afterwards, after much begging, Adrien and Caitlyn managed to convince you to let them crash at the manor for the night]

reader: (whispering) Alright, stay quiet. No one’s around, so if we’re careful, we’re good.

Damian: (scoffing) Speak for yourself. I don’t get caught.

reader: (rolling eyes) Right, because you’re oh-so-perfect.

reader: (steps inside cautiously, but freezes mid-step as you hear someone—) Oh no—

Damian: (not realizing you stopped, walks straight into your back) Watch where you’re—

(Adrien, close behind, bumps into Damian, and Caitlyn crashes into Adrien. It’s a domino effect, leaving all four of you in a heap at the door.)

Adrien: Why do I always end up on the bottom?

Caitlyn: You’re just unlucky, I guess.

Damian: Get off me, you imbeciles!

reader: Shh! You’re gonna—

Alfred: (calmly stepping forward) I trust you all have a good explanation for this?

[All four of you collectively freeze, dread sinking in.]

Adrien: (still on the floor) …I’m just gonna stay down here.

Damian: This is entirely her fault. (points at you)

reader: Yeah, this is going to be a long night….

(i might write a full on oneshot for this lol i actually love this idea)

[xxplastic-cubexx]

They finally did it everybody they said the thing!!!!!!!

"How much do you love Charles Xavier?"

"HOW DARE YOU ASK ME SUCH A QUESTION???!!!??!!?!!??!!??!!!"

HE SAID THE THING !!!!!!!!!!

[l2vedive]

CHRISTMAS WITH YOU w. jeon wonwoo

first christmas together + fluff (557)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

note: merry christmas eve !!! here's something to keep you warm and giddy before the year ends <3 i hope y'all are having a good one with ur friends n family 🫶🏻 please don't forget to give a like n a reblog w ur thoughts if you enjoyed !!

the soft crackle of the fireplace fills the living room, casting a warm glow that dances off the walls. the scent of pine mingles with the faint sweetness of cinnamon candles, creating an atmosphere that feels both festive and comforting. the christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, its branches adorned with twinkling lights, baubles, and ribbons.

wonwoo is crouched by its base, untangling a wreath he picked up earlier because, as he put it, “it matches the theme perfectly.” your cat, ever curious, bats playfully at the ribbons dangling from the wreath, earning an exasperated but amused sigh from him.

“you’re not helping, you know,” he says, looking at the cat with mock sternness before turning his attention back to the task.

you’re by the record player, flipping through vinyl sleeves, trying to choose the perfect background song for the evening. it feels important to you—setting the tone, making it just right. your fingers pause on a jazz album, but then you hesitate and move to something else.

“(your name), my love,” wonwoo’s voice cuts through your deliberation, gentle and warm, “whatever you pick will be perfect. honestly, i’d rather hear you humming than anything else.”

you glance over your shoulder, catching his soft smile. “it has to be perfect, though. first christmas together and all that,” you say with a grin, though there’s a hint of seriousness in your tone.

wonwoo rises, the wreath now untangled and hanging neatly on a branch. “it already is,” he says as he crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. his chin rests lightly on your shoulder, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple before he presses a kiss there. “but we’ve got a cake to bake and dinner to prep. think you can multitask, or do i need to pick the song for you?”

you laugh, leaning back into his embrace. “fine, fine. i’ll leave it for now. but if the vibe is off, you’re to blame.”

“deal,” he says easily, his arms loosening as he takes your hand. “come on, let me show you how amazing this wreath looks on the tree. it’s like it was made for it.”

he leads you over, gesturing proudly at the wreath now nestled among the branches. it does look good—better than you’d expected when he’d first brought it home. your cat, meanwhile, has abandoned the ribbons and is now swatting at the shiny wrappers beneath the tree.

“well, she’s having the time of her life,” you say, watching the cat with a fond shake of your head.

“at least someone is,” he jokes. “come on, let’s get started on that cake before she decides the wrapping paper is a snack.”

just as you’re about to head to the kitchen, the doorbell rings, a cheerful chime that sends your cat scurrying under the sofa. “that’ll be our first guests,” you say, your excitement bubbling up.

wonwoo squeezes your hand. “i’ll get it. you start setting out the ingredients. don’t worry—i’ll make sure everyone knows the cat’s got dibs on the tree.”

you laugh, giving him a playful shove as you head towards the kitchen. the sound of your friends’ voices fills the room moments later, their laughter blending seamlessly with the warmth of the evening. it’s a scene of perfect chaos—exactly how christmas should be.

— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.

© l2vedive on tumblr

[seat-safety-switch]

Whenever there's a crime in the town that has to deal with old Japanese cars, I'm the guy they call to solve it. My name is Detective Archibald Shitpope, and this is not one of those cases. Once in awhile, and I know it's hard to believe, something happens that's not about vintage Nipponese iron.

I was hand-washing my manual-swapped '92 Sera in the parking lot of the station when I heard a loud sigh from the next car over. It was my sometimes-lunch-buddy, sometimes-drinking-buddy Investigator Lionel Tout. He came from England, as part of a "detective transfer" that involved us finally getting rid of Detective Giorgio Mustang, who I genuinely hated. Dude would sit in the detective's bullpen and make idling-cammed-V8 noises the entire time he was thinking. I hope he enjoys Luxembourg and never wants to come back.

Tout, though, was a special case. His fixation? Trains. You've got three guesses what mode of transportation we don't have in our city. Hell, a few years back, the mayor then ordered the removal of the federal cargo train lines, convinced that A) he could sell the tracks for quick cash to a metal scrapper, and B) self-driving cars would soon deliver all of our stuff. Zero for two there, hoss, which is why he was literally crucified during an elementary-school Christmas play. That wasn't on the kids. It was the janitor trying to use it as a convenient way to dispose of a body. I got the call, because he had a 4Runner, but the responding officers figured it out real fast before I got there.

Tout came to town after that. Every day, he got a little more depressed that he wasn't able to solve crimes anymore. Back in Europe, he told me, he once solved a locked-room murder mystery. An heiress (or countess, I can't remember which) had lost her crown jewels and a man died to cover it up. Big deal in all the news, but Tout made the mistake of fixating too much on the train and not enough on the press. Solved the case, but his rival on the force got the promotion to Inspector First Class and the rest is history. Now he's here, drowning his sorrows in a mug full of rum shaped like Thomas the Tank Engine. And that gave me an idea.

That night, I phoned Tout at home. "Inspector," I tried to sound as much like a frightened old dispatch-desk lady as possible, "they've found a body at Uncle Steamy's Good-Time Hobby Emporium. You better get over there right away!"

The rest was all a detective's dream: a murder scene amongst a jealous swarm of model train hobbyists. Tons of passionate suspects, all with inconvenient alibis. A spiral of clues easily missed by lesser mortals. No security camera footage. And at the end of it, a perfect accusation and a tearful confession.

As he carried a perp (Jimmy One-Shoe, formerly arrested for foot crimes at the Payless) to the squad car, he noticed something sitting on the back seat. A little scale model of a Japanese Odakyu Limited Express "Romancecar."

Merry Christmas, Inspector. If the chief asks where I've been for the last two weeks, you tell him I was doing some detective shit, alright?

[papurgaatika]

Keep A Leftover Light Burning

Pairing: joel miller x Ceramicist! reader

MINORS DNI WITH MY WORKS PLEASE !!

A/N: howdy howdy and welcome all now this is a very special fic for @burntheedges for the @pedrostories secret santa event!! I hope you like it and find it as fun as i did. I think this isnt a trope that we see very often, but after a healthy dose of tiktoks (and watching the scene from ghost again) this came into being. As always thank you to my beloveeeeeeed @carlynkurin for beta reading, and peace and love on the planet earth from me, xoxo Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! tags: Ceramicist reader, smut, porn with plot, oral (f! receiving), publicish sex, strangers to lovers, lots of wet clay, joels arms require their own tag Word count: 3.4k Summary: Sarah forces joel to go take a day to himself, pushing him in the direction of your pottery studio. Despite calling yourself professional and priding yourself on your morals, you can’t help but… fantasize about the man in front of you. 

Joel needs to take time for himself. He’s always on, always ready to go at the flip of a switch,  never taking time to sit and breathe. Everyone knows how hard he works, and despite what he says, Sarah knows that he needs to do something calming. Something that doesn’t involve carving wood or going to the shooting range with Tommy on the off chance that both of them are free for long enough. So being the perfect daughter that she is, she enrolls him in a ceramics workshop that she had gone to once. It was a small studio, tucked away next to the Palace Theatre in downtown Georgetown, soft and quaint in the suburbs, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Sarah managed to get a hold of you over the phone and explain the situation, a smile threatening to creep onto your cheeks at the sheer amount of care she had for her father. You tell her not to worry about the price and that you would stay open for an extra hour next weekend just to get him in, a squeal on the other side is all the confirmation you need as you pencil it into your schedule. 

Sunday rolls around and Joel… Well, he was being Joel. Stubborn and groaning as Sarah essentially pushes him out the door to make the drive up IH-35, complaining about “I build things for a living,” and “it’ll be a waste of time.” but Sarah is hearing none of it and one look from her has Joel slipping on his boots. In any other circumstance, he would have praised her for holding her ground, but right now he just sighs and gets into his truck realizing just how much of his stubbornness had rubbed off on her. 

He ends up at the studio just before 5, the sun starting to dip under the horizon, casting beautiful pinks and oranges around the sky. He’s still bitching and moaning as he makes his way to the building, taking a deep breath as he steps inside. You barely even hear the jingle of the little bell above your door, too busy fighting with your sink: now clogged with clay from your last class with 3 kids under ten who didn't understand that when you told them not to dump clay inside the sink. You had meant it. “Fucking thing!” you groan, poking a paintbrush into the drain, hoping to get enough clay out of it so that it would run again. 

Joel stares at you, half confused and half amused with the scene in front of him; your hair a mess, your apron covered in clay and paint, hacking into your sink in ways that he knows won't do you any good. He clears his throat after watching you struggle for about 30 seconds, stifling a smirk when you jump and look back at him. “Need some help? I’m s’possed to have a class now- my daughter-” he shakes his head at the idea of sharing the whole story again “Did I get the wrong time?” 

You look absolutely mortified, dropping the paintbrush in the basin and giving the man in front of you a weak smile “No! No, I just got a little... occupied… you’re on time” You wipe your hands on the front of your apron, not even bothering to attempt to fix your hair, before walking over to greet him. Properly this time. “You must be Joel. Your daughter was very persuasive on the phone.” 

Joel’s smirk shifts into a full-blown smile at the mention of Sarah, the pride he has for the girl shining through. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” he praises. Despite his reluctance to listen to her advice, he knows just how good her heart is, and how much she cares about him. I “Ain't sure what she told ya, and to be honest she hasn't told me what I'm s’possed to be doing here either”

You can't help but smile at his words, the pure adoration for his daughter combined with the slight nervousness in his voice was endearing in ways you weren’t sure how to describe. “No worries, I promise it isn’t anything scary.” You glance around the studio. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, the soft lighting of the different lamps inside the building casting the both of you in a warm glow. The glaze on the ceramics you had on display was a wide assortment of colors: intricately painted motifs, bright splashes of colors, silly cartoons, almost anything you could think of. You pick up a faded apron and hand it to him, watching him stretch as he puts it on. A brief flicker of guilt passes through you as you ogle him, but then you see the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt and the guilt gives way to something primitive. 

He turns back around and you look away with a cough, a slight warmth creeping up your cheeks when he raises his brows at you. “Right um-” you stumble over your words, more unrefined than you would have liked to be “Sorry, sorry. We’ll start with choosing what you’ll want to make. I always recommend something easy, like a bowl or a spoon rest..” you pick up a pencil cup that had been painted to look like a pencil and a spoon rest that was a simple blue color, to show him “I already have the clay prepped so we can get started straight on th-” 

Joel cuts you off as he glances around the studio, pointing at a lidded cookie jar “That one.” His words leave no room for argument but certainly bring questions up to the surface. “I'm gonna do that one.” You had been making ceramics for years, starting with air-dry clay in school, continuing to use the wheel throughout university, and eventually quitting your day job to start the studio. You knew the skill level it took to make a jar, the precision and technique to keep it balanced, and it just wasn’t a beginner project. 

“I'm sorry, the cookie jar?” You try not to let your voice betray your disbelief. It wasn't that you lacked faith in the man in front of you, you made sure to be confident in all of your clients, it was simply an issue of skill. “I don't know if that’s the one for you to start out with, it’s a little advanced-” 

But Joel was having none of it. If he was going to be forced to sit here and make something to “calm him down” then damn it it was going to be something that takes skill and effort. Something that he could bring home to Sarah and brag about slightly. Was it a little strange that he wanted to one-up his daughter and prove that he didn't need to be here? Maybe a little bit, but he didn't dwell on it. “Yes ma'am.” His voice is set in the decision. “I'm sure it can't be that bad, let me at it.” 

Never one to truly tell people no, you simply nod and get the prepared clay out. It was soft and slippery, staining your hands a taupe color as you brought it to the wheel, plopping it down on the wheel, and pressing down on the sides to make sure it stuck. “Alright, so with the jar..” you gesture for him to take a seat in front of the wheel, moving to stand behind him “It’ll be a little bit more involved than something simple, but you're in good hands I promise.” Your words are soft, and frankly, you were excited. You didn't throw fun projects with clients as much as you’d like to anymore, focusing more on teaching the basics, so this was honestly a welcomed surprise. “We’ll just start with getting the basic shape of it, you’ll take your hands like this, and we’ll work it up.” 

You sit on your stool behind him, usually, you’d be able to reach around and help with hand placement but good god was he broad. You adjust and readjust your position a few times, finding it oddly difficult to find the right mix between comfort and functionality, eventually ending up with your legs spread a little bit past their comfort level, so that you could lean over his shoulder and help him with the shaping. You squeeze some water onto his hands, moving them to cup the base of the clay and pop the wheel to life. His hands were big under your smaller ones, the roughness contrasting both the soft clay and your skin. You can't help but feel a twinge of something stirring inside you as you help him bring the clay up and down, your hands guiding his. Joel’s brows were knit together in concentration, both endearing and attractive as you watched him focus on the clay. The movements of his hands under yours were careful, almost hesitant, his eyes peeking back at you every so often for assurance. 

Once the clay was at an appropriate size you moved your hands off of his, the wheel slowing to a stop. You swear that you see his hands twitch to stay under yours, but your mind might be playing tricks on you. “Now call me unartistic but this ain't really lookin’ like a cookie jar yet.” Joel raises his brows, a slight hint of teasing hidden in his southern drawl, and you can’t help but snort at the comment.

“I will not call you unartistic, it isn't supposed to look like a jar yet.” You hum and wipe your hands on your apron “We’ll do the lid to it later, but you have to actually make it into a bowl first.” your thumbs gently press down onto the center of the clay to form a soft dent. The wheel starts back up again slowly and you start to open the center up a little bit. “Right so now you just gotta take your thumbs like I did and- perfect!” Joel manages to press his fingers slowly against the clay, working it open, and god you wished that was you more than anything at that moment. You press on the sponge, the water dripping down his hand and onto the clay, almost sensually. Your eyes are locked on the way his thumb dips into the clay, the way the clay comes up onto his skin. Your mouth is dry, and you cough as you stand up, needing to take a deep breath and try to compose yourself. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel's voice rings out from behind you as you move to take a drink of water, and you swear if his voice was just a tinge deeper, you would have choked right then and there. In the rush of getting up, your brain had ceased to realize that moving off the pedal would stop the wheel from turning.

You feel like an idiot. A stupid, hormonal, completely unprofessional idiot. You take a moment to scold yourself mentally before turning around to face him again. “Yeah, yes. Sorry I just realized how thirsty I was, I just needed water.” You move back to your stool behind him, halfway composed, and move to start the next step. If you'd been in front of him for one more second, you would have seen the knowing smile on his face. There was no denying the attraction between the two of you. Pressed up against each other, hands touching, dim light surrounding you both, it was inevitable. You move your hand to show him the right finger position “so you’ll want to take your middle and ring finger-” You press the two of yours inside of the bowl to give him an example and you swear he laughs a little bit. 

“Oh, believe me, darlin” his voice rings out, big fingers expertly finding their way into the exact position. “I know all about this one.” You watch his fingers glide up and down the inside of the bowl, your hand on top of his, steadying his wrist. You bite at your lip, fingers shaking slightly on top of his. Your chest was pressed against his back and you could feel your nipples hardening. You were annoyingly turned on. This wasn’t normal for you, this wasn't something you do, get the hots for a client, but here you were. And with the way Joel's fingers were methodically moving over yours, you were begging that he felt the same way. “Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya all I know about it.” The want in his voice makes you clench subconsciously, your breath faltering for a second. 

You hold your breath for a moment as if trying to make sure you hadn’t imagined his words in a haze of horniness, only to be broken out of that haze when he shifts and pushes his stool back, and turns around to face you. Both of your hands were covered in wet clay and your aprons were messy, neither of which stopped you from pressing your lips against his. You sigh against his mouth as your hand's fist in the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric with readily drying clay. “I don't usually do this,” you murmur when you pull away for air, your lips swollen and red. 

Joel just grins at your words “S’alright, honey,” his lips find their way to your jaw and move down to your neck, his nose nudging at the fabric of your shirt. “Don't gotta explain anything to me.” His voice is like molasses, smooth and syrupy, keeping you stuck on his every word. You let him move you around, the small wooden stools were less than ideal for either of you. In the mess of standing up and finding a table to bend over your shirt comes off and he groans at the sight of you, his hands grabbing at your waist, staining your skin with water. “Good god… sight for sore eyes…” You can't help but flush slightly at his comment, feeling more exposed while you stare at his fully clothed figure.

 Joel picks up on it, his hands moving from your waist to his shirt and apron, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth when the knotted strings keep him from taking it off. “Let me,” you whisper, reaching around to undo the strings, the fabric of the apron sagging and then getting tossed to some other corner of the room. You stare at him. You couldn't not stare at him. At the hair covering his chest leading down to his belt, the soft yet strong features of his body, at his hand undoing his belt. Your own shorts had been removed, your hands moving to reach into his jeans until he stopped you, a pout and protest forming on your lips. 

Joel just shakes his head at you, picking you up and setting you on a relatively clean table, his body wedged between your legs. “My momma raised me to be a gentleman,” he hums against your skin, kissing the tops of your breasts, nudging your nipples with his nose before giving each of them their own kisses “I didn't take ya to dinner, at least let me get my fill yeah?” Your back fully arched into his mouth as his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white. The feeling of his tongue flicking against the hardened bud had you moaning out in ways you had never imagined you would, and you swear you could feel him smirk even as he licked a stripe down the soft skin of your tummy. 

His knees crack as he settles between your legs and the sight of him is so sinful you can't help but moan softly. He raises his brows at you, a warm chuckle leaving his mouth at the sound, his lips pressing against the inside of one of your thighs “Look that good?” His voice is laced with a gentle mocking as he presses another kiss, a hair's breadth away from your aching cunt “think I got the better view though.” You don't even have the time, nor the brainpower, to reply before his lips press against you, a groan vibrating against your skin as he tastes you. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had… could get damn addicted.” 

Your lips are parted as his tongue swirls around your clit, your whines and moans spurring him on even further. “F-fuck joel-” you manage at some point, his broad shoulders keeping your thighs spread apart, despite how much they’d like to clamp around him. He was good at this and he knows that, moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, the words giving him a newfound energy. You feel his warm palms against your thighs keeping you spread open for him, and you almost whine when his tongue leaves your clit, only to cry out in ecstasy when his tongue prods at your pulsing hole. His nose is pressed up against your clit, giving you just the right amount of friction as he gathers your slick on his tongue, cycling between fucking it into you and laying it flat over your cunt. “Joel- joel oh fuck-” Your moans are frantic as he continues to send you closer and closer to that edge, his motions only getting faster as your hand fists in his hair. “Oh my god- fuck fuck fuuuuck-” your legs shake around his head, his hands keeping them apart as he works you through your orgasm, not stopping until you were spent and hazy, laying back on the table with shuddering breaths. 

Your eyes were pressed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of your orgasm, only to peek open when you hear the clink of his belt. His mouth was covered in the sheen of your orgasm, a hungry look in his eyes as he spits into his hand and pulls his cock out. “Tasted like a damn dream,” he groans while he strokes himself. “Gonna remember this forever…” Your eyes are locked on the motions of his wrist, the steady pace, the pearly precum that was leaking from his tip. “Fuckin’ perfect… makin’ me feel like a damn teenager again.” You wait with bated breath as he continues to stroke himself, wiggling your hips in order to entice him. 

 “Joel,” your voice is soft, but so heavily full of need it was almost painful “Please… I want you.” If you were being honest, you thought that it would take more convincing, that you would have to ask more, but Joel was desperate, maybe more so than you were and so when he sinks his cock into your dripping cunt it was ecstasy for both of you. Your eyes fall shut again at the feel of him, the stretch so much but so good. “Oh my god…” you whine, pushing yourself onto him further, your breathing stuttering when one of his hands palms at your breast, the other one gripping your hip with so much strength you think it would leave a mark. 

“That’s it…” he groans, slipping into you all the way. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy, like she was made for me.” His words are punctuated with shallow thrusts that fill you up again and again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. The feeling of his hips pressing against yours is something you would never be able to get out of your memory. 

You both lay there, bodies pressed against each other, his hips rocking into you slow and steadily, the dim lighting of the studio casting an ethereal glow over the scene. His hips move at a steady pace, keeping you full of him as the coarse hairs around him press against your clit with the right amount of friction. It doesn't take much time until he's panting on top of you, your lips pressed against each other's in a heated kiss as you feel him spill inside you. 

“That was…” you were breathless, his chest still against yours, the rhythm of your hearts syncing up. 

“Yeah…” He grins, pressing a kiss against your forehead gently. “I know I told ya I was a gentleman but, I really would like to see you again… of course no pressure if you don't want to or anything-” 

You cut him off with a small laugh before he can keep going, nudging your head against his. “I want to, Joel.” You smile gently at him “Plus, you didn't finish the jar.” You grin, looking in the direction of the unfinished work of art he had started. “And then I have to fire it, then glaze it, then fire it again, then… well you get the point, I think I’ll be seeing you quite a few more times, Joel.”

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE;  HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. 

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Omg I loved your herald viktor epic line idea I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. If u have time and energy id love to read it sooo much ❤️❤️

Since the Ithica Saga dropped last night my brain has not known a single moment of peace. "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again" is just so insanely perfect for a Machine Herald Viktor x Reader AU it makes me physically ill. Like, seriously:

I am not the man you fell in love with

I am not the man you once adored

//

Would you fall in love with me again

If you knew all I've done?

The things I cannot change

Would you love me all the same?

//

Would you fall in love with me again

If you knew all I've done?

The things I can't undo

I'm not the man you knew

Viktor is so Odysseus coded it is PAINFUL. The pain of sacrificing so much of himself to survive. The regret of everyone he's had to leave behind, to betray. The ghosts of his legacy haunting his mind. All for his goal, the one thing he knows he's meant to do with every fiber of his being. Nothing, neither magic nor gods, will stop him from fulfilling that dream. He will not be the same once all has passed, and he will never regain all that he's lost. Can the person who loved him the most as he was before still love this version of him?

And the reader's answer...

I will fall in love with you

Over and over again

I don't care how, where, or when

No matter how long it's been

You're mine

Because what you loved about him is deeper than any of the ways he's changed. It's something at his core, in his soul, in the light of his eyes, no matter how tired they may seem now. It's your first kiss, it's the sound of his voice in your ear, it's the curve of his lips when he smirks, it's the way he looks at you like he falls in love all over again every day you're with him. Time may pass, and the world may change, but not this. Never this.

He is yours just as you are his, and that is the one thing that will never change.

[austinbutlerslovers]

How We Became Us

Label Mature 18+

Summary You’re a mom first, navigating the chaos of single motherhood with no time or desire for romance. But when a close friend introduces you to a handsome actor, your carefully guarded heart begins to open in ways you never expected.

🔗 Masterlist

💝Romantic Smut 💝 Austin pursuing • slow burn• guarded heart • single mom of 2•friends to lovers• romantic get away• fluff •first kiss•falling in love• sweet talk •body worship •praising •edging • fingering •oral on fem • clit play •sexual awakening• breast play •p in v• multiple orgasms• cream pie

📖 Proofreaders @purejasmine @magicovento

💌 Inspo via request: ( I had to get it perfect ✨ thank you for your patience)

How We Became Us

The movie set buzzed with energy as crew members scurried around adjusting lights, cameras, and equipment. 

You stood off to the side, balancing your two-year-old daughter on your hip, her chubby fingers tugging at your necklace, while your four-year-old son played with a toy car at your feet, repeatedly pushing it forward only to chase after it. 

His remote control for the car had been misplaced somewhere in the chaos of the morning, so he had resorted to manual play, his determination both endearing and exhausting. 

Your best friend, Emily—your childhood confidant turned big-time movie producer—had invited you for a behind-the-scenes visit to her latest project, American Speed. You were more focused on keeping your toddler from drooling all over your shirt than paying attention to the organized chaos around you.

“Come meet someone!” Emily called out, striding toward you with a grin. She gestured to a tall man following her—a striking figure with sandy-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a laid-back smile. He wore a plain black T-shirt and jeans that seemed almost too normal for someone in Hollywood.

“This is Austin Butler,” Emily introduced. “Austin, this is my best friend I’ve been telling you about, and these are her little ones—”

“Jack and Lily,” you filled in, shifting your daughter on your hip as her toy slipped to the ground. “Sorry, I don’t have a free hand to shake.”

Austin bent down, picking up the toy before holding it out. “No problem. I think I’ve got this.” His warm smile lingered on your daughter as he gently handed the toy back to her. She giggled, and your heart warmed, but you weren’t about to let yourself be charmed that easily.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t mind a little baby drool?”

“Not at all,” he said, straightening up. “I like kids.”

Emily smirked. “Austin’s starring in the movie. He’s kind of a big deal right now.”

“Ah,” you said, nonchalantly, bouncing Lily on your hip. “Sorry, I don’t keep up with movies these days. The last thing I saw in theaters was Sonic the Hedgehog Three—and only because Jack begged me.”

Austin chuckled, looking genuinely amused. “I can’t compete with Sonic, but I’ll take what I can get.”

His easygoing demeanor caught you off guard, and you found yourself smiling despite your initial wariness. Still, you had no intention of getting swept up in Hollywood charm. You were here for Emily and your kids.

The conversation shifted as Emily took Jack’s hand to show him around the set, leaving you and Austin standing there. “Let me guess,” you said. “You’re used to women throwing themselves at you?”

His laugh was soft and genuine. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a hunch.” You adjusted Lily’s position and gave him a pointed look. “Don’t expect me to join the fan club.”

That only seemed to intrigue him more. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “But how about coffee instead?”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re asking me out? After knowing me for five minutes?”

“More like six,” he teased, his hands slipping into his pockets. “But yeah. I like your vibe.”

Emily returned at that moment, overhearing the exchange. “Go, I’ll watch the kids. You deserve a break.”

You hesitated. “I don’t think—”

“Go,” Emily insisted, already reaching for Lily. “Seriously. I’ve got this.”

Before you could argue, Lily was out of your arms, and Jack was waving happily as Emily led them away. Austin tilted his head toward the lot exit. “What do you say?”

With a resigned sigh, you followed him.

The café was small and cozy, a short walk from the studio, tucked away from the glitz of the city. You stirred your coffee absently as Austin sat across from you, his gaze steady. He was too attractive for his own good, but you weren’t about to let that rattle you.

“So,” he began, “what’s your story? How’d you end up raising two awesome kids on your own?”

You gave him a guarded smile. “That’s a long story. And not exactly first-date material.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Fair enough. What should I know about you, then?”

“That I’m a mom first, everything else second. And I’m not looking for… this.” You gestured between the two of you. “Whatever it is.”

“Why not?” he asked, his tone curious rather than pushy.

“Because I’ve been burned before,” you admitted, your voice firm. “And I’m not interested in repeating history.”

Austin leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I get that. But not everyone’s going to hurt you.”

You met his gaze, something in his sincerity making you falter. “I don’t need saving, Austin.”

“I didn’t say you did,” he replied softly. “But maybe you deserve something good.”

His words hung in the air as you exchanged soft smiles and soon you slipped effortlessly into other topics. He understood your humor with ease, and the way he listened—really listened when you spoke—felt both disarming and endearing.

You got along so well that before you knew it, he smiled and asked for your number. Hesitant and caught off guard by how natural it felt, you found yourself slowly grinning as you typed it into his phone.

By the time you returned to the set, you had convinced yourself it was just a harmless coffee date, not the start of anything real—

Kneeling down to Jack and Lily’s level, his smile was warm and genuine.

“It was great meeting you, Jack,” he said, offering a light fist bump that made your son beam with pride. Then he turned to Lily, his tone soft and playful. “And you, little Lily, take good care of your mom, okay?” He grinned , and she giggled, clutching your leg shyly. Austin cutely winked at you before standing back up, the small gesture almost making you part of his fan club—though you’d never admit it.

Later that evening after you’d settled in from a whirlwind day your phone buzzed. Seeing Austin’s name appear on the screen so soon surprised you, but you picked up quickly brushing your excitement aside.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice calm and confident. “I just wanted to say I really enjoyed meeting you today… and…” he paused for a moment, his tone carrying a hint of warmth, “I was wondering if you’re available for dinner at the end of the week. You know, so I can steal a little more of your time before you come up with an excuse to avoid me.”

You held back your laugh, and even though the guarded part of you wanted to say no, your curiosity got the better of you. “Dinner, huh? That’s a lot longer than a coffee date. You think you can handle me for that long?” you quipped, keeping your tone playful, even as the flutter in your stomach betrayed your nerves.

His chuckle was rich and smooth. “Oh, I can handle you,” he said, his tone laced with just enough confidence to make your cheeks warm.

You rolled your eyes to avoid showing it, but you couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face. “Fine, dinner. But don’t think I’m easy to impress,” you said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Noted,” he replied, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. “Friday at seven?”

“Friday at seven,” you agreed, already mentally running through your list of babysitters.

By Friday evening, you were standing in front of your closet, sighing at the assortment of clothing. Why were you so caught up in what to wear for him?

You settled on a modest yet flattering outfit—a fitted black dress with a low neck and long sleeves. It hugged your waist just enough to feel confident without being over the top. You paired it with simple earrings and ankle boots, letting your natural spark shine through with a subtle rouge lip.

When you arrived downtown at the restaurant it was a modern elegant Italian place with dim lighting and flickering candles reflecting off the polished marble floors and glass walls.

Austin was already there, waiting in the lobby. He looked effortlessly put together in a black shirt and suit jacket that highlighted his broad shoulders and dark jeans. He uncrossed his arms as you approached, a calm smile softening his handsome face.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

“Don’t start,” you replied with a grin, though the way his gaze lingered on you made you feel like you were glowing.

He opened the doors for you and led you into the dining area, an enchanting space housed under a grand dome. The walls were lined with lush, cascading plants, and soft golden lights intertwined with the greenery, creating an ethereal glow.

Overhead, the glass dome revealed the night sky in all its splendor, the stars twinkling like scattered diamonds. The combination of natural beauty and elegance made the atmosphere feel both romantic and magical.

The tables were small and intimate, each adorned with a single candle. As you sat down, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease Austin seemed, his calm demeanor contrasting with your nervous energy.

Over a a few glasses of wine, you found yourself loosening up, your playful side surfacing as you bantered with him.

“So,” he asked, leaning forward slightly, “What was the funniest thing Jack or Lily did this week?”

You grinned, swirling your wine. “Well, Jack decided to wear his Spider-Man pajamas to school the other day and told his teacher he was ready to save the world.”

Austin chuckled, his smile warm and genuine. “He’s in character—I like that,” he said, leaning back slightly. “Kid’s got commitment.”

You could barely contain your laugh. “Well then, you’ll really enjoy this—Lily has convinced herself she’s a cat. Full meowing and everything.”

You both laughed, the sound deep and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. Austin shook his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “The kids are their own little variety show. I can see why you’re smiling all the time,” he said, his tone warm and sincere.

“You have no idea,” you replied, your guard slipping as the conversation flowed. “They’re my world.”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone softening. “You’re an incredible mom.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You looked down, taking a sip of your wine to compose yourself. “Thanks,” you said finally, your voice quieter.

By the time the plates were cleared, the conversation had shifted to everything from your childhood memories to guilty pleasure movies. His calm, patient presence coaxed you out of your shell, and before long, you were laughing so hard you nearly spilled your drink.

After dinner as you stepped outside into the crisp evening air, you turned to him, your cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and laughter. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” you said with a teasing smile. “I was really impressed this evening Austin.”

“I’ll take that as high praise,” he smiled, his eyes sparkling as he stepped closer. “But I think I can do better.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips kissing yours softly at first, as if waiting for permission.

You froze for a split second, caught off guard that it was even happening, but then you melted into the kiss, clutching his firm arms to steady yourself. His scent was warm and woodsy, with hints of vanilla and bourbon, and the way he held you made your heart race.

When he pulled back, you blinked up at him, trying to gather your thoughts. “I…uh… that was so.. h—unexpected,” you said, your tone uncertain as your voice trembled slightly.

“Was it bad?” he asked with a playful smirk.

“No!” you blurted out too quickly. “No, it wasn’t bad at all, Austin… it was so good—it was really good . I just—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with even more intensity.

His hand cupped your cheek, steady and warm, as his lips moved against yours. Your entire body relaxed as the kiss deepened, your mouth sliding over his in a way that made your thoughts scatter.

He tasted so good—like wine and something unmistakably him. He felt so good, so irresistible, that it made you frantic, your hands gripping his jacket as you leaned closer, consumed by the fire of his intensity.

His other hand found your waist, anchoring you as your kisses grew more heated, your mouths moving together like you couldn’t get enough of each other. The world around you blurred, reduced to the warmth of his touch and the way he made you feel, and for the first time in a long time you were unmistakably aroused

With a soft gasp, you pulled back, your chest rising and falling, breathless, your mind spinning. “I—I should go,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes as you tried to compose yourself.

Austin tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, as his thumb stroked your cheek gently.

His voice was calm and patient, his tone making it impossible to ignore the genuine care in his words.

“Yes,” you nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Really. Just—it’s late.”

“Alright,” he said with a soft smile and without hesitation, he walked with you toward the valet stand.

As you waited for your cars, he stayed close, his fingers brushed against your shoulder lightly at first then, his hand slid lower, resting gently on your waist, his thumb grazing your hip absentmindedly. The casual intimacy of it made your stomach flip, as the entire time, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to climb him like a tree.

Your car arrived first, and as the valet opened the door, you turned to him. Unable to resist, you leaned in for a quick hug, your arms wrapping around his firm chest. The scent of him—warm, woodsy, and undeniably intoxicating—filled your senses, and for a brief moment, you let yourself get lost in it, your mind overtaken by the smell of him.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, affectionate and soft, like he was trying to understand what you were thinking.

“Good night,” you said, your voice soft and reluctant, lingering in the air between you.

“Good night,” he replied, his tone low and smooth, laced with a quiet intensity that made your stomach flutter. His eyes lingered on yours, and the way his lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile felt almost seductive, as though he was daring you to stay just a moment longer.

You bit your lip as you stepped back, resisting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you and kiss him again.

Instead, you turned quickly and climbed into your car, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. As you drove away, you glanced back at him in your rearview mirror, his tall figure still standing there, watching you leave. His scent still clung to you, warm and intoxicating, and your mind raced with thoughts you weren’t quite ready to face.

Over the next few weeks, Austin was extremely busy with filming, but he still found little ways to remain a part of your life.

You were busy with work and wrangling your little ones, but the two of you FaceTimed when you could, and every time, he made a point to say hi to Jack and Lily. They adored him, and his genuine warmth toward them made it harder for you to keep your guard up.

One evening, he asked for your address and casually suggested a playdate. “If it’s okay, I’d love to take you and the kids somewhere fun,” he said, his voice calm but hopeful. You hesitated for only a moment before agreeing. His excitement was contagious.

On Saturday, Austin picked the three of you up and drove to a sprawling outdoor park with a petting zoo, a huge playground, and plenty of open space. The day was crisp and sunny, and the laughter of children filled the air. Jack and Lily were wide eyed with excitement as they took in the colorful slides, swings, and the fenced area with goats and bunnies.

Austin was a natural. He jumped right into the action, helping Jack climb the rock wall on the playground and pushing Lily on the swings, her giggles echoing through the park. “Higher, Austin!” she squealed, and he laughed, obliging her with a playful grin.

When they wandered over to the petting zoo, Austin crouched down with Lily, gently showing her how to hold out her hand for a baby bunny to nibble on. “See? Just like this,” he said, his tone patient and encouraging. Jack ran up, curious, and Austin seamlessly shifted his attention, answering Jack’s million questions about the animals with the same enthusiasm.

The whole time, he was equally attentive to you. He carried Lily when she got tired, helped Jack when he scraped his knee, and made sure you had a moment to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked softly when the kids were momentarily distracted, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, his blue eyes full of quiet concern.

You nodded, a warm smile spreading across your face. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice soft but genuine. “This… this is wonderful.”

His lips curved into a gentle smile before he leaned in, brushing an encouraging, kiss against your lips. The tenderness of it, the way he made you feel so seen and cared for, made your heart flutter and left you completely swooning. You barely managed to catch your breath before he pulled back, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to check on the kids.

By the end of the day, the kids were tired but beaming, their hands sticky from ice cream cones Austin had insisted on treating them to. Jack climbed onto his back without hesitation, declaring him “the coolest grown-up ever,” while Lily clung to his hand, refusing to let go.

On the drive home, the kids fell asleep in the backseat, and you turned to him, overwhelmed by how effortlessly he had fit into your little world. “You’re really good with them,” you said softly, watching as his lips curved into a small smile.

“They’re great kids,” he replied, glancing at you for a moment before focusing back on the road. “And you’re an amazing mom. It’s easy to see why they’re so special.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just smiled, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. By the time he dropped you off, you realized something you hadn’t let yourself admit before—Austin wasn’t just charming or fun. He was something more, something steady, someone you could rely on.

The next week, Emily called, insisting on coming over for wine in the evening . When she arrived, she was practically glowing, a bottle of your favorite wine in one hand and gifts in the other.

“Okay, don’t kill me, but I’m just the delivery person here,” she said with a grin as she stepped inside. She placed the wine on the counter and held up the items in her arms. “This,” she said, presenting the remote-controlled car, “is for Jack. Austin heard he lost the remote to his old one and said no kid should be without a car they can crash into furniture.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Of course he did.”

“And this,” she continued, holding up a handmade bunny quilt, “is for Lily. Austin found it at some little shop and said it reminded him of her. Thought it would be perfect for her to snuggle with.”

Your chest tightened despite yourself, but you kept your expression neutral. “That’s… thoughtful.”

“Oh, and the wine?” Emily added, gesturing to the bottle on the counter. “That’s from him, too. He said, and I quote, ‘Moms deserve their favorites, too.’”

You sighed softly, shaking your head, but couldn’t entirely stop the smile spreading across your lips.

Every heartfelt gesture from Austin chipped away at your defenses, despite your best efforts to resist.

Later that night, Jack was already asleep when you peeked into his room. He was clutching the new remote-controlled car to his chest, his little face peaceful in the dim glow of his nightlight. You smiled softly, adjusting the blanket over him before stepping out.

In Lily’s room, Emily was already there, kneeling beside the bed as she tucked the bunny quilt from Austin snugly around her.

Lily smiled sleepily, murmuring something incoherent about ‘ her bunny blanky” before drifting off. You leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching Emily smooth the blanket gently over Lily’s tiny form, a look of affection on her face.

You stepped into the room quietly, standing beside Emily as the two of you looked down at Lily, her breathing soft and even.

“She’s adorable,” Emily whispered, her voice low so as not to wake her. “Just like Jack.”

You nodded, a faint smile on your lips.

Emily glanced at you, her expression shifting to something more serious. “Austin is entirely smitten with you, you know,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “And honestly? You should give him a chance. He’s a good guy.”

You sighed, your gaze fixed on Lily’s peaceful face. “Good guys don’t exist,” you muttered, almost to yourself.

“They do,” Emily said, her tone firm but gentle. “And he’s one of them.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet of the room settling around your thoughts, and despite your best efforts, they drifted to Austin.

His thoughtful gestures, his warm smile, the way he spoke to Jack and Lily like they were the most important people in the world—it all tugged at something deep inside you.

Over the next month, each date with Austin chipped away at your walls. Whether it was sharing stories over dinner, walking through the park hand-in-hand, or watching a movie with Jack and Lily nestled between you, he made every moment feel meaningful.

The kisses grew deeper, more frequent, and harder to pull away from, leaving you breathless each time. He never rushed you, but his quiet patience and unwavering care made it impossible not to feel safe with him. Slowly, you began to trust him, to let him into the spaces you’d kept so carefully guarded.

One evening, as the kids were decorating a small Christmas tree in the living room, Austin sat beside you on the couch, the glow of the twinkling lights casting a soft warmth over his face.

Christmas had always been a stressful time for you. Your ex had made it that way, his constant criticism, belittling remarks, and refusal to help turning what should have been a joyous season into a source of dread. The kids had felt it too, the tension in the air overshadowing their excitement.

It had left you doing everything you could to distract and shield Jack and Lily from his moods. Even now, the memories of those Christmases lingered, making it hard to feel the holiday spirit.

“Christmas is a few weeks away,” Austin chimed in, his voice calm but with a hint of nervousness. “And I know this time of year isn’t always easy for you…” He said his hand rested gently on your knee, his thumb brushing against it. “But…I was thinking—what if you and the kids spent the holidays with me? At my villa in the mountains.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Your villa?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He smiled, leaning slightly closer. “Yeah. It’s quiet, peaceful. There’s a big fireplace, snow-covered hills, and even a spot for sledding. Jack and Lily would love it. And… I’d really like to spend Christmas with all of you.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the kids, who were now deciding over the placement of an ornament. The idea was tempting, but memories of past holidays made you pause. “Austin, I don’t know…”

His fingers tightened slightly on your knee, his gaze steady. “You deserve a Christmas that feels good. And so do the kids. Let me give that to you.”

The sincerity in his voice made you take a deep breath. You looked at him, his hopeful expression, and couldn’t help but give in. “Okay,” you said softly, nodding. “We’ll spend Christmas with you.”

His grin was immediate, lighting up his entire face. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips.

The drive to the mountains from the airport was an exciting drive. Jack could barely stay still, practically bouncing in his seat as Austin navigated the winding snowy roads. Lily, strapped in her car seat, clapped her tiny hands together every so often, babbling happily about “ big trees” as the snow-covered forest grew thicker with every mile.

When the cabin finally came into view, your breath caught. It was stunning—a sleek, modern design with large glass windows that reflected the surrounding snow-covered landscape. Nestled in a lake bed, the cabin was surrounded by towering evergreens dusted with fresh snow. The lake itself was frozen, shimmering like glass in the crisp winter light.

“Wow,” Jack breathed, pressing his face to the window. “Mom, look at all the snow!”

“It’s beautiful,” you confessed, your voice soft with awe as you stared at the serene scene in front of you.

Austin pulled into the driveway, his grin wide and full of joy as he glanced at you. “Wait until you see the inside,” he said, stepping out of the car and immediately opening the door for you and the kids. “C’mon, Jack. Let’s get your sister.”

Jack scrambled out, immediately grabbing handfuls of snow. “Ahhh It’s so cold!” he exclaimed, laughing as he threw it into the air.

Austin chuckled, unbuckling Lily and lifting her into his arms. She let out a delighted squeal, pointing at the snow with her tiny fingers. “Snow snow snow!” she babbled, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“It’s cold, sweetheart,” Austin said softly, pulling her scarf higher as he carried her toward the cabin. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

The cabin’s interior was just as breathtaking as the exterior. The open floor plan had a large stone fireplace in the living area, with cozy furniture arranged around it. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the snowy landscape, and a fully decorated Christmas tree stood in the corner, twinkling with lights.

“This is…” You trailed off, taking it all in. “Austin, this is amazing.”

He adjusted Lily on his hip and smiled. “I wanted it to feel special—for all of you.”

Jack immediately began exploring, his excitement infectious as he darted from room to room. “Mom! There’s a bunk bed! And a big kitchen!” he called out, his voice echoing through the space.

Austin laughed as he watched Jack with a proud expression. “I think he approves.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “I think we all do.”

The next few days were filled with moments that felt like magic.

Jack and Lily experienced snow fall for the first time, their laughter filling the air as Austin pulled them on sleds down gentle hills near the cabin.

Jack insisted on building the biggest snowman ever, and Austin happily obliged, rolling snow into giant mounds while Lily giggled, toddling after him and attempting to help with her tiny mittens.

Later, you all sat inside by the fire, steaming mugs of hot cocoa in hand. Lily held her sippy cup with both hands, sipping carefully, while Jack sat cross-legged on the floor, playing with his toys.

The warmth of the fire wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, you felt the tension of the holidays melt away.

Austin sat beside you, his eyes soft as he watched Jack and Lily. “They’re amazing, you know,” he said, his voice low and full of emotion.

“They are,” you agreed, glancing at him. You couldn’t help but look at him with affection, your heart swelling at how effortlessly he fit into your little family. Without thinking, you brought your legs over his lap. He smiled at the gesture, his hand resting on your knee, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb,

“You look so happy,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “It looks beautiful on you.”

You felt your cheeks warm and looked away, watching the kids. “I am happy,” you admitted softly. “This… this is all so perfect.”

He pulled you closer, his thumb brushing over your waist. “You deserve perfect, you know that? And so do they.”

You turned to him, your heart catching in your chest. “Austin…”

Before you could finish, Jack looked up from his toys. “Can we go sledding again tomorrow?” he asked, his face full of hope.

Austin grinned, his smile warm and genuine. “Now that you know how we can even have a race tomorrow.” He said excitedly.

Jack whooped with happiness, and even Lily let out a tiny squeal of approval, clapping her hands together with delight.

Later that night, as the snow fell lightly outside, you watched Austin tuck the kids into bed with a tenderness that melted your heart.

He listened intently to Jack’s excited chatter about sled racing and gently adjusted Lily’s bunny quilt as she murmured sleepily. The way he handled everything with such care stirred emotions within you that you had never fully allowed yourself to feel for him.

Quietly, you slipped away, heading to your room. After a warm, soothing bath, you wrapped yourself in a robe and walked to the dresser. Nerves overtaking you as you opened the drawer, your eyes falling on the lingerie you’d packed but had been dreading to wear.

It was simple yet elegant—a soft, black lace slip that hugged your curves just enough to make you question if you could really go through with it. You stood there for a moment, hesitating, your heart pounding in your chest as you wrestled with both excitement and uncertainty.

After the kids were sound asleep, you gathered your courage and walked down the hall in your lingerie slip toward Austin’s bedroom.

Your heart pounded as you hesitated at the doorway, nerves fluttering wildly in your stomach.

You raised your hand and gently knocked, the sound somehow louder in the quiet house. For a brief moment, you thought about retreating, but before you could, his calm, deep voice called out.

“You don’t have to knock,” he said softly, his tone warm and inviting.

Stepping inside, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the crackling fireplace, the flickering light casting shadows across the walls.

Austin stood near the foot of the bed, dressed in gray sweats and a simple white t-shirt. His sandy blonde hair was slightly tousled, and his blue eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with tenderness as they locked on yours.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted quietly, taking a hesitant step forward.

His expression softened, and he crossed the room to you, taking your hands gently in his. His palms were warm and grounding, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles. “Just cuddle with me ,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

You smiled as he led you to the bed and sat down with you. He laid back, propping himself up on one elbow, and gently pulled you down beside him. The closeness of his presence calmed you, and as you rested your head against his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounded you in the moment as you both looked at the fire place.

“I care about you so much,” he said after a long silence, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your arm. “You, Jack, Lily—you’re everything to me now.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling as his words washed over you. “Austin…” you whispered, unable to find the right words, but the way you gazed at him said everything.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before his hand slid to your jaw, his touch gentle but firm, as he tilted your chin up.

Then he kissed your lips—heartfelt and tender—as he brushed them softly against yours, his movements were unhurried and full of emotion.

You whimpered into his kiss, eager and unable to hold back. Your hands trailed up his strong neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, kissing him deeper, needing more.

His other hand rested on your stomach, his fingers brushing the lace of your slip. Slowly, he let his hand wander lower, testing your reaction. You didn’t stop him—in fact, you arched slightly, giving him permission, and his hand slipped into your panties just as his tongue slipped into your mouth, the dual sensations drawing a soft moan from your lips.

He glided his fingers up and down your wetness, each movement deliberate and teasing. Your body responded eagerly, and when he pushed two fingers inside, a gasp escaped you. You kissed him deeper, your lips parting for him as his tongue matched the rhythm of his hand, the intimacy leaving you trembling and craving more.

Your breaths grew ragged as his long, deft fingers curled deep inside you in a way that made you see stars. You cupped his jaw, pulling him closer, devouring his mouth hungrily as your hips moved against his hand. His other hand tugged the strap of your slip down, exposing your breast, and he wasted no time lowering his lips to it.

His mouth was warm and wet as he sucked your nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive peak with precision. He alternated between soft teasing pulls and harder deeper sucks that made you cry out softly, your hands gripping his shoulders.

You couldn’t hold back any longer, your moans turning into soft, broken cries of pleasure as his fingers moved faster, as his mouth sucked your nipples. Your vision blurred, and every nerve in your body seemed to ignite as waves of pleasure rippled through you. “Oh, Austin—Austin!” you gasped, your hips pushing up involuntarily as you orgasmed the release sending tingles through every inch of your body.

Your breaths came in desperate, shuddering gasps of pleasure as he kept his fingers inside you, kissing his way down your trembling body, his lips warm and gentle as they pressed along your thighs.

He pulled your panties down slowly, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of desire and reverence as his mouth lowered on to your clit. His tongue flicked and circled with expert precision as his fingers continued thrusting inside you. You babbled incoherently, unable to form words as your body writhed beneath him, the intensity of his touch consuming you entirely.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he slipped his fingers out, replacing them with his mouth, his tongue working you over with devastating skill.

His movements pushed you over the edge as another powerful orgasm tore through you, your cries of his name echoing in the room as your body shuddered beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your body limp and your core throbbing.

He climbed back up, his eyes filled with affection and lust as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and strong, defined abs. You couldn’t stop the soft “yes, yes,” that slipped from your lips as you tugged off your lingerie and slid out of your panties in return. Then you spread your legs open for him, lying fully exposed on his bed.

He smiled, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m going to take my time with you,” he said, his blue eyes locked on yours as he pushed down his sweats.

You nodded, your voice trembling with need . “Take whatever you want Austin.” You breathed.

His smile widened as he leaned down, kissing you. “That’s what I love about you,” he whispered against your lips. “You give yourself so completely—so openly—when you finally let go for me. It makes me want to protect that trust with everything I have.”

His words made you gasp against his lips. You couldn’t respond at first, your breath caught in your throat as his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Give me all of you,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with longing. “Every part of you. I’ll take care of it—I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes… please, yes.” Your hands reached up, threading into his hair, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t bear to let him go. “Take all of me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you surrendered completely.

He aligned his cock to your slick wet entrance and pushed in slowly, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut as you took all of him inch by inch.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest as he stilled letting you adjust to his size. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, eliciting soft gasps from you as he slowly began to thrust.

Every coherent thought left your mind, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him—his size, his warmth, the way he filled you so completely. His mouth claimed yours, devouring it hungrily, and your moans were muffled against his lips, soft and pleading as you melted beneath him.

When you became breathless, he pulled back, his lips brushing over your jaw before lowering to your chest. He hunched over you, lowering his mouth to your breasts, sucking each nipple softly at first, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peaks licking in slow, strokes. Then, as his thrusts grew deeper, his mouth became more insistent, lapping and sucking at your breasts as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

The rhythmic sounds of your wetness filled the room, mixing with the slap of his narrow hips between your legs. He groaned loudly, his voice thick with arousal. “Fuck— you feel —so good —I can hardly think” he whispered against your skin, his words broken by heavy breaths.

He thrust harder, his cock twitching inside you with every movement, his satisfaction undeniable. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he pressed deeper, each thrust more forceful, his voice low and guttural. “I can’t… I can’t get enough of you,” he praised, his tone filled with raw need. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer the pressure of his cock filling you even more, making you feel completely claimed, entirely his.

Your thighs instinctively squeezed against his hips, and he groaned again, louder this time, his voice unrestrained. “Oh fuck,” he gasped, his pace quickening.

Pulling back slightly, he rested on his elbows, his blue eyes blazing with intensity as he lifted to look between your bodies.

You looked down, your breath catching at the sight of his thick cock disappearing into you, stretching and filling you completely, creating a visible bulge in your abdomen with each deliberate thrust.

The sight alone sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, making your thighs tremble as your walls clenched tightly around him. His breaths came harder, his groans breaking as he thrust faster.

“You make me feel so complete,” he whispered, his voice rough and trembling with desire, his gaze locked on yours as if you were the only thing in the world. “I love us… I love this… so much.” His words were filled with reverence, laced with the raw need that fueled every thrust.

His cock twitched inside you again, and you moaned in response, your body arching to meet his as he pressed forward, his lips finding yours once more, capturing every sound of pleasure that escaped you.

You were, unable to speak as your moans overtook you, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his.

The sensation built higher and higher until you both reached your peak, and your orgasm shattered through you leaving you gasping as your vision blurred. You cried out his name, your body tightening and trembling as the intensity consumed you completely.

Feeling your walls tighten around him, he groaned deeply, his hips faltering as his own climax followed. His come spilled into you as he called out your name, his voice rough and trembling with pleasure. The sensation made you cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as you pulled him down for a deep, heated kiss.

Your tongues tangled desperately, the kiss full of shared intimacy and raw emotion, as your bodies moved together, covered in a light sheen of sweat.

His kisses were slow and heated as his hands traced a path that left you breathless, making you feel cherished in a way you’d never experienced before. As you came down, the sensation was all-consuming, leaving you trembling in his arms.

He held you close, his lips brushing your temple. “You’ve got me,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “All of me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as his words washed over you. “I want all of you,” you whispered back, your voice soft but filled with conviction. “Every piece.”

The weight of your own words settled between you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something crack open inside you—love. This wasn’t just passion or a fleeting connection; it was something deeper… it was real. His arms around you felt like home, his steady heartbeat against yours like a rhythm you’d been searching for your entire life.

His thumbs caressed your hips as he slowly, carefully pulled out but the sensation left a soft ache, a reminder of how completely he had filled you.

He rested his head against your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin, and you instinctively brought your fingers to his hair, holding him close. His chest pressed against yours, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment.

After a few quiet breaths, his voice broke the silence, soft and a little hesitant. “I know you don’t want more kids right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “But… do you think you’d ever want more one day?”

You paused, your fingers lightly threading through his hair as you considered his question. A gentle smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “If I were married… then yes, maybe.”

He let out a quiet, thoughtful hum, and instead of responding right away, he nuzzled back into your neck, his lips pressing softly against your skin. “Married,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of affection and quiet contemplation.

He didn’t say anything more, just held you close, his breath warm against your neck, letting the moment speak for itself.

As you closed your eyes a small, contented smile crossed your lips. Austin was the was the start of something real and something you were finally ready to believe in.

Two years later, you stand hand-in-hand with Austin in the cabin, the same one where everything truly began. Lily dances around your feet, giggling as Jack chases her with a toy airplane. Your gaze drifts to your wedding ring, the diamond catching the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the large windows.

Austin’s hand slides lovingly over your growing belly, his touch gentle but protective, as if cradling the life you are creating together. His blue eyes soften as he looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

As the sun dips lower, casting golden hues across the frozen lake, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours for a moment before his lips brush yours in a tender kiss. “Together forever,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of promise.

And forever, with him, feels exactly right

🎄 THE END 💕

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