#i’m going to regret posting this but then again i’ve been too normal on this webbed site lately

[mythmerth]

hello and welcome to the

mythmerth 2024 merthur fic reading wrapped 💫

I am your host mythmerth, and these are my merthur ao3 fic reading stats. when I say stats, I mean lists of numbers and histograms and pie charts and all that. like im so serious its a bunch of oddly color coded numbers that also happen to mean I read a shit ton of gay fan fiction. if that’s fun for you you’re in the right place!

Before we begin with the numbers there’s some things I want to clarify:

This is not going to be my favorite merthur fic reads of 2024 because god this is loaded enough as is. if you’re looking for my 2024 recs, go HERE !! (I will link when I have the post made!)

These stats are wholly collected and compiled by me. Whenever I read or reread a merthur fic this year, I added the word count number to my list as soon as I was finished reading. I’ve seen some ao3 wrapped generators hanging around and I’m here to say that that is NOT what I used, and in fact from what I can tell would’ve been wildly inaccurate for me; this is the sweet sweet old fashioned data collection and thus has all the pros and cons involved in that.

For my data, all numbers are rounded to the nearest whole and written in the thousands unless specified otherwise. If you see a ‘26’ in my data images, assume that means roughly 26,000. For fics at a 25,501 word count, I rounded up to 26. For fics at a 25,499 word count, I rounded down to 25. the hope is that these even out at the end!

I am so excited and I have 0 regrets. 100% of these fics are merthur fics (including a very occasional poly fic) and I have never felt more off my rocker in my life.

all that being said…

it’s time for stats.

let’s begin with the complete 2024 tally before we get into the nitty gritty.

Between January and December of 2024, I read a total of 14,489,000 words. Yes, that is 14.5 million words of merthur fan fiction.

Of those 14.5 million, ~4.6 million were from fics I reread and ~9.9 million were from novel fics (aka I’d never read them before).

I read a total of 239 fics this year (N is NOT in the thousands). Of those 239 fics, 52 were rereads and 187 were novel.

Half (~119) of the 239 fics I read were above 44k and half of them were under 44k.

The average fic length id pick up was about 60k, and the specific word count I happened to read the most often was 39k.

Funnily, the average length of the fics I reread was 88k, and the average length of all the novel fics I read was 53k, so I guess I’m inclined to reread long fics more ???

The highest <completed> word count I read this year was Sorcerer’s Bane by BeautifulFiction, clocking in at a very scrumptious 265k words.

Not depicted in the image, but the longest series I read was Footloose’s ever infamous Loaded March, giving a hearty 1.26 million words to my count this year.

Now for the fun part…. monthly specifics…

behold, the gay merthur donut

did someone say pie chart?? too bad, you get a donut. also hello to my pfp.

From my monthly counts, May was my lowest at 732k words read and August was my highest with a very normal and regular 1.8 million words. read. in August. 1.8 million.

(once I saw those stats i wondered if I’d really gone berserk cause… what the hell was I on. is this normal? I don’t know what’s normal anymore)

I read an average of 1.2 million words per month, so I hover right around there with some exceptions (looking at you July and August. and May.)

This is a look into how I break down the months

Each novel read is noted with the right skew within the cell, and each reread is noted with a left skew. So for January, I had 7 rereads. Then I add them up and do general stats when the month is over: I read 20 fics in January that averaged at 65k each, for a total count of 1.3 million words.

Sometimes I’d mark fics in other ways to keep track of them, I did this with certain series and also to denote if a fic was unfinished. In August, I’d picked up Loaded March again and you can see those in blue. I also read Accidentally my Companion which is an unfinished work by Nakyrah, shown in green in the image (this is also the longest fic I read this year if you count ongoing, it’s at 276k as of now so check it out tehe)

I messed around with some histograms too~

While this is set up as a ‘histogram’, this is actually all 239 fics I recorded one by one laid out as a chaotic strip of lines. Each line is a fic, the height denotes word count. I have a pretty typical rhythm; read short fics between the super long ones, nothing too insane other than that diabolical spree of reading long fics I went on at the beginning of the year. I was about to get my bachelors alright? I was doing anything. my average word count in February was 114k okay I couldn’t be trusted. clearly, cause the first thing I did with my degree was make a fan fiction stat chart

Now this is a proper histogram: each bar represents a word count category and the height is how many in the category I read. As you can see, I’m very inclined to read the 23k-63k category. There’s also a spike at ~115k and I think that’s a bit funny. like why that set specifically? they Speak To Me

Speaking of fics I’m drawn to. You’re probably thinking, ‘the numbers are cool and all, but of those 14 million words of godforsaken merthur fics, what ratings did you read the most?’ I’m so glad you asked!

I read the MOST godforsaken ones.

I have no charts for this because I painstakingly went through all of my bookmarked fics from 2024 and tallied their ratings on paper to the best of my ability.

Out of the 187 novel fics I read (I don’t re-bookmark rereads so if I’d thought of this category sooner I would’ve been MUCH better off but I didn’t and now we’re here)

131 of them were Explicit (70%)

39 of them were Mature (21%)

13 of them were Teen (7%)

4 of them were General (2%)

And I guarantee the rereads look almost identical to this, if not more explicit. something about merlin and arthur and their explicit antics heal me; it’s always the filthiest I start reading when I’m feeling my lowest. I eat that shit UP. So if you’ve come to my page looking for Teen rated fics I fear this may Not Be The Place For You. I’ve read quite a number of very good T and G fics!!! I just. the mature ratings. they call me.

and lastly, I’d like to post my scrappy 2023 stats cause the year difference is. kinda funny

they consumed me body and soul and I haven’t looked back once.

and that does it for this years mythmerth merthur ao3 wrapped!

I hope you enjoyed this breakdown as much as I enjoyed all the reading and data collection I did this year!!

Again, if you’re looking for my 2024 recs I’ll have them linked here as soon as I create the post <3

If you have any inquiries or questions or comments on what my merthur 2025 wrapped should include pls let me know I’m just having a good time with this, what did you think? what should I do next?

[lav-endermoon]

maybe one day i’ll release the edit i made on my phone of wilbur in the sorry prison video. to the song fame by david bowie. i don’t know what fuckign happened i just blacked out ok

[fingertipsmp3]

I really need to get a proper job so I’ll be too tired to have insane ideas like “what if I learned 5 romance languages all at once”

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f,a)

Chapters: Part I / Part II / Final.

Synopsis: After a mishap on his part, you doubt that Chan is ready for a relationship but he is determined to prove it, except that he's having problems following your one condition. (17k words)

Author's note: Sorry for the late post. Hope you like the new chapter and don't forget to share your thoughts on it x

Chan has always been the type to run when conversations gets hard, when the truth is too heavy to carry. But not today.

Today, he is standing still, facing it head-on. His hand hovers over the wood, hesitating for only a second before he knocks again, his heart is beating out of his chest.

The second knock seems to last forever, but then, the door creaks open and youu stand there, looking at him with an expression that made it clear you aren’t surprised to see him.

Chan feels a lump forming in his throat—he was expecting more. Maybe shock, or even anger. But what he gets is quiet resignation, and that hurt more than he thought it would.

“Can we talk?” His voice comes out softer than he intended, laced with the weight of what he needed to say. His eyes searched yours for any sign of what you're feeling, but you are calm, too calm.

For a moment, you consider his request, eyes narrowing slightly before you step aside to let him in.

Chan exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he is holding and steps past the threshold. The apartment feels familiar, yet foreign—last night’s tension still lingering in the air like a ghost. He can feel the weight of his own mistake pressing down on his shoulders as he moved toward the living room.

You followed behind him, closing the door with a soft click before turning to face him, waiting for him to speak.

Chan runs a hand through his hair, his nerves making him fidget more than usual. He isn’t used to this—staying when things got hard. But here he is, about to dive headfirst into the conversation he would have normally avoided.

“I’m sorry,” he begins in the best way there is: with an apology

“About last night. I know it looked bad,” he winces as the whole incident flashes through his eyes.

Your expression remained unreadable, and that only made his stomach twist. He pauses, carefully find the right words to say next.

“I sent that text before you came over,” he admits, his eyes finally meeting yours. “It was stupid, I know. I was angry... knowing you went on that date. I acted out of impulse, and I didn’t even think she’d show up. Hell, I didn’t even think you’d come.”

You cross your arms in front of you, your silence heavy with expectation and he knows you are waiting for more.

“I messed up,” he continues, the next best thing to do is acknowledging his mistake.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve never sent that text, and I’m so sorry for how things turned out,” he continues, his voice tinted with regret.

Chan’s chest aches with the weight of the confession. He is baring it all, and the fear of rejection, of messing this up even more, is creeping up on him. He takes a step closer, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

“I just... I didn’t want to lose you. And when I saw you with someone else, it hurt. More than I expected it to,” He painfully admits, then he stops talking and waiting for you to respond.

For what feels like an eternity, the silence hangs between you and him like a barrier. Finally, you sigh, dropping your arms to your sides.

“I know it wasn’t great timing,” you begin, your voice calm but firm. “And I know you didn’t mean for things to go the way they did, but Chris... this isn’t just about last night.”

Chan blinks his eyes repeatedly, surprised, “What do you mean?”

You turn to lean against the back of the sofa, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About how fast all of this has been moving, and maybe... maybe I moved on too quickly from my last relationship.”

Then you look away as if searching for the right words, “Maybe we both aren’t ready for this.”

The idea of losing you now, after everything, is unbearable. His heart is sinking but he sees the doubt in your eyes, the walls you are building to protect yourself. And yet, he couldn’t walk away from this—not when he is feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“I know I’m not perfect,” he says, taking another step closer, his voice thick with emotion. “And I know I’ve made mistakes. But what I feel for you... it’s real. And it’s different from anything I’ve felt in a long time.”

Your eyes flicking up to meet his, and for the first time, he sees something soften in your expression. He presses on, sensing that this is his only chance to convince you.

“I’m not the guy I used to be,” he continues, his voice growing more confident. “Yeah, I’ve had my moments, and yeah, I’ve been a fuckboy. But that’s not who I want to be with you. I want this to work. I want us to work.”

The vulnerability in his voice hit you harder than you expected. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, feel the raw honesty in his words. And despite all the doubts and fears swirling in your mind, there is something about the way he is standing here, owning up to his mistakes, that makes you want to believe him.

“I don’t want another heartbreak, Chris,” you openly share, “The last thing I need is to go through that again.”

He nods, fully understanding the weight of your words but it only encourages him to convince you more, “I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here because I care about you. More than I can put into words.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The room feels thick with emotion, but there is also something else—a glimmer of hope. Something worth fighting for.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you look at him, searching his face for any sign of dishonesty. But all you see is sincerity, and that is enough to make you consider his plea.

“Okay,” you finally whisper, “Let’s give it a shot.”

Chan’s face lights up with a warm smile, his heart swelling with happiness at your decision. But the joy in his expression doesn’t last long as you look at him seriously, your gaze sharp.

“In one condition,” you add.

His smile falters, and a flicker of panic replaces it. “W-What condition?”

“There’ll be no sex,” you say plainly, your voice calm and firm.

“No–no sex?” He stammers, looking at you like you’ve just told him he’s not allowed to breathe. His eyes widen, his mind scrambling to process what you’ve just said.

You nod, your expression unwavering. “I don’t want you to confuse this— physical attraction with emotional connection... Sex will only distract us from our goal.”

Chan’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s going to protest, but no words come out. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he tries to gather his thoughts.

After a moment, he nods, though his expression is one of disbelief. “Okay... okay, no sex.” His voice is strained, but he’s doing his best to sound agreeable.

But then, something flickers in his eyes, and a small hope sneaks back in.

“Just sex, right?” He asks for clarification, a hopeful smile creeping onto his face. “I’m still allowed to kiss you...?”

Your eyes narrow slightly, and a sly smile spreads across your lips. “I’m afraid not.”

His face falls, the hope vanishing in an instant. “Not at all?” He asks, his voice horrified.

“At all,” you confirm, your tone playful but firm.

He stares at you, his expression a mix of shock and despair. “You’re serious?” He mutters, more to himself than to you.

You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow as if you’ve just remembered something else. “Oh, and that includes no more barging into my place.”

Chan blinks, still processing the former information when your next statement hits him like a second wave.

“I know you’ve been keeping my spare keys," you say with your eyes narrowed at him, "I want them back.”

He closes his eyes, letting out a long, exasperated sigh as if he’s in the middle of a nightmare he desperately wants to wake up from. But when his eyes open, nothing has changed. You’re still standing there, waiting for him to comply.

“Come on,” you say, nudging his arm gently, “give them back.”

With a deep, reluctant sigh, Chan reaches into his jeans pocket, his movements slow, as if giving up the keys is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He pulls them out and holds them in his hand for a moment before finally passing them over to you.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, taking the keys from him.

He watches you with a defeated look on his face, his shoulders slumping as you put the keys away. His lips press into a tight line, clearly still processing the fact that not only has he agreed to no sex, but now he doesn’t even have access to your place anymore.

Chan sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

You catch his thoughtful expression and smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. “Well, you can just quit now,” you tease, the words light but with a hint of challenge.

His eyes snap to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Oh, just wait and see,” he replies, his voice low, but there’s a spark of determination behind it.

The teasing grin lingers on your lips, but Chan’s heart is set. This isn’t just about sticking to your rules—it’s about showing you, through his actions, that he’s no longer the guy who flirts and leaves when things get complicated. He’s here, and he’s staying.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head as if amused by his newfound resolve. “We’ll see.”

"You will," he boldly remarks, his voice steady, and there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. It’s not just a flirty remark or an empty promise. It’s real.

This time, it’s different. He’s different. And he’s going to show you that he’s ready to be the person you deserve.

-

When Chan thinks about it again, you’re not asking for much beyond that one condition—but deep down, he knows it’s more than that. It’s not just about avoiding physical intimacy; it’s about proving himself. He’s not the guy who plays games or casually dates for fun anymore. He’s not that fuckboy. He’s changed, and he’s ready for something real, something meaningful.

However, words are just words until he acts on them.

That’s why Chan waits in the lobby around the time you usually get home from work. To pass the time, he chats with the new guy working the concierge, trying to distract himself from the nervous energy building up.

The second you step into his radar, he can almost sense it. He turns his head toward the entrance, and there you are—pushing through the apartment door with a bag slung over one shoulder and another in hand.

Without missing a beat, Chan rushes toward you, grabbing the bag from your hand. “Great day at work, darling?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

You let out a low scoff, eyeing him skeptically. “And you’re still doing your best at work, huh?”

“Well, I aim to please,” he playfully responds, giving you a wink.

Before you can protest, he takes your bag to the concierge and talks to the new guy to keep it safe, leaving you standing there, eyebrows raised.

“Why... what are you doing with my bag?” you ask, looking at him in confusion.

“He’ll be keeping it safe,” he simply replies, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “While I’m taking you out for dinner.”

Before you can get another word in, he takes your hand, pulling you with him as he drags you right back out the door. You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

It’s clear: Chan’s not just saying things this time—he’s showing you.

The restaurant he is taking you for dinner is only two blocks away from your apartment building, and it surprises you that you didn’t know about it until now.

“How come I didn’t know about this place before?” you ask in wonder, chewing on your food.

Chan clasps his hands together in front of him and props them under his chin, “Maybe if you were being a lovely neighbor from the start, I would’ve taken you here sooner,” he teases.

You narrow your eyes and take a jab back at him, “And maybe if you weren’t busy taking girls home and avoiding them in the morning, you would’ve taken me here sooner.”

Chan sighs in defeat, putting his hands off the table, deciding to let the conversation slide. “But you agree that you like the food, right?”

You shovel another spoonful of food into your mouth and nod in approval, "Mm-mmh," you hum in answer.

Spotting something on the corner of your mouth, he grabs a napkin and, with a soft touch, dabs it away. You look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You had something on your face. Was I just supposed to leave it there?” he defends with his grin.

You take the napkin from him and finish the job yourself. “You know, you don’t have to try this hard,” you say.

It's not a surprise that you would think that way, that he’s overcompensating, but he's doing it all because he genuinely cares for you.

“What? I’m just taking my lovely neighbor to one of my favorite spots nearby,” he says with his signature dimpled grin.

Shaking your head, you sip your drink, unsure how to respond. Before you can think of anything, he changes the subject.

“So, what are we doing this weekend?” he asks, as if it’s a given that you’re spending it together.

“Bold of you to assume I have nothing to do this weekend,” you say.

“Well, if you do have something to do, I can only hope it’s me,” he says with a wink.

You groan and toss a crumpled napkin at him. “I have to work this weekend.”

His groan is louder than yours. “If you’re working weekends too, when do you have time for me?”

You shoot him a look. “As far as I know, you didn’t have a problem keeping yourself entertained before.”

Chan’s smile turns cryptic as he slumps in his seat. “True... but it would be fun to play with you.”

“You remember my one condition, right?” you remind him.

He tosses the crumpled napkin back at you. “There are so many ways to have fun without sex.”

“Sshh,” you shush him, glancing around.

“Why are you still weird about it? We’ve had sex twice al—”

You cover his mouth with your hand, glaring. “You might as well announce to the whole restaurant we’ve had sex twice!”

He pulls your hand away, grinning wide as if he’s about to do it for real, just to see the horror in your eyes. But then he bursts into laughter instead and catching you off guard by kissing your hand softly which makes you withdraw your hand immediately.

“Did you really think I would do that?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.

“For a second, yes,” you admit, a smile tugging at your lips.

“You were right,” he playfully says.

When the server arrives with the bill, you get ahead of Chan, placing your credit card down before he can.

“So you’re the one paying in this relationship?” he teases. “I could get used to that.”

“Don’t,” you warn, rolling your eyes.

The server returns with your card and receipt, but she also gives Chan a familiar smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she says, flirtatiously and completely dismissed your presence there.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been busy,” he replies, glancing nervously at you.

“Next time you stop by, I’ll give you a little free service,” she says, smiling a bit too much.

You’re not blind to her tone, but you keep quiet as the two of you leave the restaurant. Once you’re back at the apartment building, you retrieve your bag from the concierge, muttering your thanks as you take it. Chan offers to carry it for you as you head up in the elevator.

“You should invite that cute server to play with you this weekend,” you say, a hint of jealousy in your voice.

His smile grows, sensing you care more than you let on. He doesn’t respond, leaving you to wonder if he’s considering your suggestion. Even after the elevator doors open, he follows you to your apartment, still carrying your bag.

“I can take it inside for you,” he offers, clearly hoping for an invite in.

“I can take it myself,” you say, effectively blocking his plan.

He hands over the bag with a pout, lingering as you unlock your door. He leans against the doorframe, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“You’re going away for the whole weekend, and I get nothing?” he asks, inching closer.

You cross your arms. “And what do you expect?”

“A kiss would do,” he says, almost shyly, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise.

You shake your head, staying firm on your one condition. “No kisses.”

“Just a nibble then?” He grins wider.

“A nibble?” you laugh. “I’m not some... snack.”

“You’re not. You’re a whole damn feast,” he says, lowering himself to your eye level, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and not hiding his eyes from looking at them.

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, his lips brushing past your ear. His boldness catches you off guard, and your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your jaw. Then, just as he’s about to claim your lips, you block him with your fingers.

“You’re good,” you admit with a smile, “but not that good.”

For a guy who always gets what he wants when he wants it, this is frustrating. He lets out a heavy sigh then drops his head onto your shoulder.

“I have to go,” you mutter, even as you let him hold you.

“Just give me a minute,” he mumbles, nuzzling his head further into your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He savors the moment, holding onto you a little tighter, soaking in the feel of you against him. Everything about you—your warmth, your softness, your scent— oh, it’s all so right.

“I have to wake up early tomorrow,” you whisper again, rubbing a hand along his broad back.

“Fifteen more seconds,” he mumbles, discreetly letting his hand slide lower, only for you to catch it and place it firmly on your back.

You stay like that for a moment longer, neither of you wanting to let go until you finally pull away.

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say softly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” he replies with a smile, slowly letting you go, though everything in him wants to hold on.

As you take a step back, he does the same, the two of you locked in a gaze to keep the intimacy of the moment continues through your eyes until you close the door with a faint smile that lingers in the back of his head.

Letting you go isn’t easy, but sometimes he knows he has to if he wants to bring you closer.

-

Chan lies awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The weekend he had envisioned was simple: hanging out with you, maybe grabbing dinner or spending lazy afternoons together. But since you weren’t around, the plan had crumbled, leaving him stranded with nothing to do.

He could go out, like he usually does on weekends, but something in him resists. It's too easy to slip back into old habits, to fall into the routine of partying and avoiding the emptiness that comes with it. So instead, he’s here, in his apartment, doing nothing.

With a sigh, he reaches across the bed, his hand brushing against the smooth fabric of something familiar—your underwear. He’d kept it from that night, the night everything between you two changed.

Lifting it to his nose, he inhales deeply, letting your scent flood his senses. Just a whiff, and he’s already lost, a fire igniting in his gut. His cock twitches, aroused, stirred by the memory of you.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind drift back to that night—the way he had kissed you, held you close, felt your warmth pressed against him. He remembers the way his hands explored your body, how he had parted your legs and exposed you, tantalizing and perfect, making his every nerve scream for more.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word hanging heavy in the quiet of his apartment. His frustration is palpable, throbbing inside him.

The thoughts alone aren’t enough. He needs more. He needs you. But you're not here, and that only makes the ache more unbearable.

Thankfully, his phone rings, pulling him from the spiral he was sinking into. He groans and drags himself out of bed, grabbing the phone off his nightstand. The call is brief, no more than a minute, but it does the job. It snaps him out of the rut he was teetering on the edge of.

It looks like Chan has to go out tonight after all.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stares at the text that came through. Someone had pulled out of a gig last minute, and now he’s been asked to fill in. It’s a valid reason to get out of the apartment, at least. Better than staying cooped up and letting his thoughts eat at him.

Before he knows it, he's dressed and heading out the door. The club he’s heading to isn’t unfamiliar—it’s one of his favorite spots to work. Maybe it's the crowd, or maybe it’s just because he desperately needs a distraction tonight, but it feels less like work as he steps inside and feels the pulse of the music hit him.

He takes a deep breath and dives into the scene, ready to let the night carry him wherever it leads, all while keeping you in the back of his mind.

After his set, he decides to hang around the club for a bit, rewarding himself with a drink. It’s been a good night, the crowd was lively, and he deserved a little downtime.

He leans against the counter, sipping slowly as the music thumps around him. Girls have been giving him smiles, glancing his way, but he’s used to that. It’s nothing he can’t handle, especially now when he’s keeping his focus sharp.

Then the bartender sets another drink down in front of him.

“This one’s on her,” he says, nodding toward the far corner of the bar.

Chan follows the bartender’s gaze and spots her—a girl with a sultry smile, waving at him. She’s undeniably attractive, but he’s not interested.

Still, it’s just a drink, and rejecting it feels unnecessary. So he lifts his glass, offering her a polite smile of thanks from across the bar.

Before he can even take a sip, someone else steps up to him, practically radiating anger.

“Are you flirting with my girlfriend?” the guy growls, eyes dark and filled with rage.

“What?” Chan responds, confused and caught off guard.

“I said, are you flirting with my girlfriend?” The man’s voice rises, his presence looming over Chan.

“I’m not,” Chan says quickly, holding his hands up defensively. “She bought me a drink, and I thanked her. That’s all.”

But the guy isn’t having it. He steps closer, grabbing the front of Chan’s shirt with one fist. “How dare you lie to me!” he shouts, pulling Chan closer, their faces inches apart.

Before things can escalate further, the girl who started all of this rushes over, forcing herself between them.

“Stop! He’s telling the truth!” she says, tugging at her boyfriend’s arm and dragging him away from Chan.

Chan can see the regret in her eyes as she mouths, “I’m sorry,” before leading her fuming boyfriend toward the exit.

As they leave, Chan sighs, straightening his shirt and shaking his head. Maybe tonight, he should have just stayed in his apartment after all.

-

Chan arrives at his place, feeling weighed down by the events of the day. You've only been gone a day, but it feels like an eternity to him. Everything feels off without you around, stretching out every second into what feels like endless suffering.

He needs you. Desperately.

He knows it's late, and he isn’t even sure if you're home yet, but he finds himself walking toward your door. His feet move on their own, driven by an overwhelming need for comfort. When he gets there, he knocks gently at first, waiting in the quiet hallway. No response.

With a sigh, Chan leans his forehead against your door, feeling a sinking hopelessness wash over him.

“Please… open the door,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Then, to his surprise, he hears movement on the other side. He steps back quickly, his heart racing as the door creaks open, revealing you—looking slightly disoriented, your hair tousled from what must’ve been sleep.

"I'm sorry," Chan says, his voice soft with guilt. "I didn’t know you were home already."

"I just got home not long ago," you reply, your voice still thick with sleep.

Seeing you—standing there in the low light, with tired eyes and that familiar warmth—pulls at his heart in a way that makes him ache. He inhales deeply, trying to steady himself before speaking again.

“I’ve had a really, really bad day,” he admits, his voice low, almost breaking.

The truth is, you’re a big part of why his day feels so unbearable. The distance between you gnaws at him, creating a physical ache he can’t shake. He needs you, even just your presence, to feel whole again.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, holding it gently but firmly, as if letting go would mean losing his grip on everything.

"Can I stay the night with you?" His voice is heavy with vulnerability.

You hesitate, shaking your head. "You know that we can't—"

“I swear I’m not trying to do anything else,” he cuts in quickly, his eyes pleading. "I just... I just want to be with you tonight. Please?"

The sadness in his voice is raw, and you can see how much he needs this, needs you. You massage your neck, the exhaustion of the day visible in your eyes as you consider his request.

For a moment, silence hangs between you two. Then, finally, you nod. “Okay.”

From the way you're giving in with less resistance than usual, Chan can tell you're too tired to fight him on this tonight. He feels a pang of guilt but, at the same time, relief. A win is a win, and right now, he just needs to be near you, hoping his presence might bring some comfort, as yours does to him.

Once you let him in, there's no more talking. You silently lead him to your bed, making space for him without any fuss.

"You can have that side," you gesture to the left side, your voice soft with exhaustion.

Any side would do. As long as he's here, next to you, he couldn't care less. You crawl under the covers while Chan stands there, starting to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Your voice holds suspicion, your eyes peeking over the blankets.

He smirks, pulling the shirt off. "I told you I sleep naked."

"Naked naked?" you ask, eyebrows raising as his fingers move to his jeans.

He notices the way your eyes fixated on his body, he knows you like what you're seeing so he makes a good show out of it. He's working his jeans open in a painstakingly slow motions, stripping down to his dark boxers.

"Your expression is filthy," he jokes, "what are you thinking?"

You let out a scoff and tuck yourself into the blanket, trying so hard to not to be affected by what he just did.

Chan can't help but quietly smiling in triumphant and comes over to the bed. Climbing into bed next to you feels surreal. It's more than just sharing a space now; you're sharing your bed.

The scent of your sheets is intoxicating, subtle yet enough to make him feel like he's sinking into you even without touching. He pulls the covers over himself, careful to leave a respectful gap between you two, honoring your one condition.

He rolls onto his side, facing you, while you lay on your back, eyes closed. The darkness wraps around both of you, the room heavy with quiet and the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air.

"What happened?" you ask, eyes still shut, your voice breaking the silence.

"What?" Chan asks, fingers barely brushing the edge of your arm, almost on instinct.

"You said you had a bad day," you repeat, softly, your voice drifting through the stillness.

He sighs, staring up at the ceiling now. "Well, I went out tonight and I tried to be... good," he starts, his voice low. "But it turned out to be not easy."

You don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue, your presence alone urging him to be honest.

"I was at this club after my set, just hanging out. Someone sent me a drink, and next thing I know, this guy is in my face, accusing me of flirting with his girlfriend," he explains, his tone frustrated. "I didn’t even do anything. But... it just made me realize how easy it is for things to get messed up. One small misunderstanding, and it all spirals."

His fingers lightly brush your arm now, the contact gentle, but you don't push him away. He takes that as permission to continue.

"I don’t want to be that guy anymore—the one who gets mixed up in stuff like that," he murmurs. "I’m trying to be better... for you."

You don’t respond right away, your breathing steady, as if you’re already halfway to sleep. But your silence is enough of an answer for him. He feels calmer, just being here with you.

"He almost punched me," Chan dramatically shares to gain sympathy from you.

You chuckle softly, "So, the usual, huh?"

"The usual, yeah," he responds, grinning.

"But that's also where you're doing it wrong, Chris," you say, turning your body to face him and see his eyebrows knit in confusion.

"You're doing it for me." You say, resting your hand under your head as you clarify, "When you should be doing this for you."

That sinks in, and it hits him why everything's felt like a struggle lately. He's been trying to change because of external pressure—because of you—not because he truly wanted it for himself.

"Don’t get me wrong," you continue gently, your voice low and soothing. "I appreciate that you’re willing to change for me, but I want you to change because you want it. For yourself."

Your words, so calm and caring, open up a new perspective for him. It's not just about trying to impress or be better for you, but about becoming someone he's proud of. It all feels clearer now, and at the same time, he feels a deep sense of reassurance—he really is with the right person.

"Can we cuddle?" Chan asks, pulling his best puppy eyes to win you over.

You don’t answer verbally, but the way you open your arms for him is all the permission he needs.

Without wasting a second, he slides in closer, wrapping himself around you, his arm draped over your body as he nestles his head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of your body envelops him, bringing a sense of comfort he desperately needed.

"Goodnight, Chris," you murmur, patting his head softly.

"Goodnight," he mumbles back, sneaking in a kiss on your jaw.

You let it slide this time, smiling into the darkness before closing your eyes, drifting off.

Chan, however, is still wide awake, his mind buzzing with the proximity between you two. There's only a thin layer of clothes separating your bodies, and he's doing his best to respect your boundaries, but the way your warmth radiates against him makes sleep the last thing on his mind.

Still, he takes a deep breath, doing his best to settle down, grateful for this moment of closeness with you.

-

Chan is used to waking up unsure of his surroundings, but this morning is different. He knows exactly where he is, and for once, he doesn't immediately rush off. Instead, he nestles his head closer to yours, savoring the warmth of your body pressed against his while you're still unaware that he's awake.

The sound of your alarm blaring from your phone finally breaks the silence. You groan, forcing yourself to wake up, eyes still closed as your hand fumbles around the bedside table to turn it off.

After silencing the alarm, you yawn and stretch, your body still heavy with sleep. "Ugh, I have to go to work," you mutter, tapping Chan’s forearm in a silent request for him to release you.

But instead of letting you go, he tightens his hold, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. "No, stay," he mumbles, his voice low and groggy.

"Not everyone makes money from spinning records," you tease, a playful jab at his career.

"I’m not going to take that personally," he grumbles, his voice muffled as he refuses to lift his head from your neck.

You chuckle softly, your fingers naturally slipping into his curls. Gently, you start brushing them with your fingertips, feeling the texture of his hair as you absentmindedly comment, "Is this your natural hair?"

"Hmm," he hums, affirming.

"They’re a bit dry and..." You pull back slightly to take a better look, "...a little dull too."

"Mmh..." he hums again, clearly enjoying the gentle scratching of your fingers against his scalp.

"You should condition them better," you suggest, offering hair advice out of the blue.

An idea forms in Chan’s mind, and though he knows you’ll likely see right through him, he can’t resist. He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, a cheeky grin forming on his lips as he asks, "Can you show me how to take care of my curls?"

The playful gleam in his eyes is unmistakable, and you can already tell what he's up to. But the question catches you off guard enough to make you laugh.

"Show you how exactly?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you pretend to play dumb.

Chan, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, stumbles through his words, "You know... we could, uh, get in the shower together, and you can, um, show me how to... condition my curls, or whatever…" He flashes you that dimpled grin, the one that always manages to make his adorable babbling irresistible.

You lift your head slightly, propping it up with one hand as you look at him skeptically. "You want us to shower together so I can teach you how to wash your hair?"

He nods, eyes wide with feigned innocence, fully expecting a refusal and maybe a reminder of the boundary you’ve set about physical intimacy. But instead, you surprise him by giving in.

"Okay," you simply say.

The stunned expression on his face is priceless, his eyes widening further as if he didn’t quite hear you right. "Wait, really?"

You shrug nonchalantly, "Sure. You want to learn, right?" You give him a smirk, teasing him without saying it outright, fully aware of what he's really after.

His grin grows, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to leap out of bed with excitement. "Yeah, of course," he replies, trying to keep his voice steady, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrays him.

Without another word, you swing your legs out of bed, standing up and stretching a bit before heading toward the bathroom. Chan watches you, dumbfounded for a second, before scrambling to follow.

-

Nothing could have prepared Chan for this.

The moment you slip your nightdress off and pull your underwear down your legs, his brain shuts down. His eyes roam over your bare skin, every curve, every inch of you exposed, leaving nothing to the imagination.

As if that weren't enough, you gather your hair into a messy bun on top of your head, exposing your neck—a sight that only intensifies his desire. He stands there, frozen, unable to decide which part of you to look at first.

You step into the shower, and Chan steps aside, barely breathing as the water begins to cascade down your body. He watches the droplets slide over your skin, wishing desperately that he could replace the water, that he could all over you like that.

When you turn to face him, he lets out a low breath, trying to keep his composure. His gaze travels down your body, soaking in every detail, every inch that he so badly wants to touch. He grips the shower stall handle tightly, fighting the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you.

Your hands slide down your body, the action as innocent as washing off yesterday's weariness, but in his mind, it's anything but innocent. You're driving him crazy, and you know it. The way you look at him, allowing him to watch you like this—it's tantalizing, almost cruel.

"Okay, first," you break the silence, your voice echoing in the small shower chamber. "We need to get your hair wet."

He almost forgot the pretense of this shower. He tears his eyes away from your body and focuses on your words, trying to remember that this was supposed to be about hair care. You take the showerhead and aim it at him, chuckling as he remains rooted to the floor.

"It's hard if you stand so far away," you tease.

He steps closer, knowing that proximity will only make things worse for him. Still, he obeys. The moment you're close enough, you bring the showerhead to his hair, gently wetting it with your fingers brushing through his curls. He's so close to you, his lips mere inches from yours. He has to fight the urge to kiss you, to taste your skin.

"Now it's wet and ready," you murmur, putting the showerhead aside and reaching for the shampoo. You work it into his scalp, massaging it in slow, circular motions.

"That feels good," Chan mutters, his voice rough with desire.

"Yeah?" you whisper, stepping even closer, your chest now grazing his. "You like that?"

"Yeah, I like that," he says, his voice strained as he struggles to keep it together.

The intense eye contact is too much for him, and though he's usually good at holding a gaze, this is different. He closes his eyes, trying to calm the heat building inside him. His body is betraying him, and the situation down there is getting harder—literally—to control.

"Okay, now we're going to wash it out," you say, grabbing the showerhead again and rinsing the shampoo from his hair.

Chan almost groans when you step away, the loss of your touch leaving him aching for more. He keeps his eyes closed as you instructed, but every brush of your fingers against his scalp, every sigh you let out, sends him spiraling.

"It's all good now," you say, smiling as you wipe a stray bit of foam from his face.

He's at ease, yet burning inside. He feels taken care of, but also teased to the brink of madness.

"What's next?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"We're going to condition it next," you explain, turning away to get the conditioner. "Your curls need moisture, so you have to condition regularly. Or just condition without shampooing sometimes."

He nods, barely hearing your words. The proximity, the feel of your breath on his ear, is driving him wild. As you apply the conditioner, you're even closer than before, so close that he can feel your breath on his neck. He’s barely holding on.

Then you ask, casually, "Do you want me to wash your body too?"

The offer hits him like a shockwave, and for a moment, he can't speak. Blinking, he nods, his heart pounding. You take a bar of soap, lathering it up before sliding your hands over his skin. Every touch is electric, and when your hand glides over his abs, he clenches them, trying to maintain control. Your hand goes lower, tracing the path along his pelvic bone.

But then, mercifully, your hand moves away. You rub down his legs and even grab his rear, making him chuckle nervously.

"Something funny?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"Nothing," he replies, swallowing hard as he lets you continue. He’s letting you do whatever you want, helpless under your hands.

When you finish, the two of you just stand there under the warm water, the tension in the air thickening by the second. The bathroom feels smaller, the space between you more unbearable.

Chan snaps. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you flush against him, his body fitting against yours perfectly. He presses his lips against your neck, kissing the soft spot under your ear. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his dark, lust-filled gaze.

"What’s next?" he growls.

You wrap your arms around his neck, dragging your lips along his jaw until your mouth hovers near his ear.

"I'm going out of the shower," you whisper, "and I'll give you a few minutes to..." Your eyes flick downward, pointedly glancing at his hardening member. "...sort out your situation."

You kiss his cheek and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself. With one last playful smile, you say, "I can't be late for work."

And just like that, you leave him standing there—wet, aroused, and utterly flabbergasted.

-

Chan’s life is different now—less chaotic, more focused. He’s found a new rhythm, avoiding old habits and temptations, reminding himself that he can be better. At work, he's polite, giving empty promises when girls ask him for drinks, knowing full well he has no intention of following through. His nights out have become rare, and if he feels that sexual urges, he'll channel that energy into working out at the gym.

Tonight, he's watching for you, keeping his apartment door open so he can see when you arrive home. The moment he hears the elevator chime, he rushes to the door and spots you stepping out, looking exhausted from work.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greets, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You give him a tired but warm smile. “Hey.”

Chan walks over, grabbing one of your bags to help lighten your load. “Come on, I cooked us dinner.”

The sight of you eating so well makes him feel proud. Every bite you take feels like a reward for the time he spent preparing the meal. When you finish your plate and look at him with a shy smile, asking for more, he grins and happily gets up, placing more fried rice on your plate.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely as he refills your glass of water before sitting back down.

“You’re very welcome,” Chan responds, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment.

Dinner ends with a cold can of beer, and soon, you're both on the sofa, enjoying the comfortable silence that fills the space. Chan sits there, the question he’s been wanting to ask weighing on his mind. He takes a breath.

“Do you have plans this Saturday?” he asks casually.

“Why?” you inquire, taking a sip of water, sensing something behind the question.

“A friend asked me to play at his sister’s wedding,” he explains, his arm resting on the back of the sofa, his hand just brushing your shoulder. “and I want you to come with me.”

“As a date?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Chan grins, trying to suppress his excitement. “As a date, yes.”

“I’d love to,” you say, but something in your tone makes him sense there’s more.

“But?” he asks, bracing for the letdown.

“I can’t. I have a guest coming over that day,” you explain apologetically.

“A guest?” His eyebrows raise in curiosity.

You nod. “Yeah, a guest.”

“Family?”

“No.”

“Colleague?”

“Nope.”

“Friends?” he asks, growing more curious with each question.

You shake your head, hesitating for a moment before finally revealing, “Ex-boyfriend.”

Chan leans back, exasperated. “So, you're not coming with me because Lee is coming over?”

“Yes,” you answer, trying to keep things simple.

He stares at you, dumbfounded. “But why?”

“Because I told him to,” you respond, trying to sound nonchalant, though you know it’s frustrating him.

“What?!” Chan looks at you in disbelief, his eyes wide.

You laugh softly at his reaction, putting your glass down and settling into the couch. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying to make this work, so, I thought maybe it’s time I do my part too.”

He’s silent, listening intently, trying to understand what you mean.

“I told Lee to come so he can take his things from my place,” you explain. “That way, I can have space for… new things.”

Chan’s pout fades into a smile as the meaning behind your words sinks in. Tentatively, he reaches for your hand, holding it gently on your lap. For a moment, he can’t believe it—the two of you are really doing this. You're starting fresh, together.

“Okay,” he says softly, understanding now. “I get it.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, smiling back at him.

“I still want you to come with me, though,” he says, the hint of disappointment still lingering.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, genuinely apologetic. Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you offer, “But I can still help you with your hair if you want.”

Chan laughs, his grin returning. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Later, when he walks you to your apartment door, he dreads the moment of parting. You share a long, warm embrace, and as usual, you're the first to pull away, though you keep holding his hand for just a little longer.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you say softly.

Chan smirks, joking to lighten the mood. “If you’re really thankful, you should dream of me tonight.”

You smile, playing along. “I’ll try.”

“And I’ll try to dream of you too,” he pauses, his voice dropping to a mischievous whisper, “preferably naked.”

You scoff, shaking your head with a laugh. “Good luck with that!”

He gently caresses your face, his eyes warm as they meet yours. “Goodnight,” he says softly, then adds with a smirk, “I think we should start picking pet names.”

You shake your head, but there’s a smile on your face as you step back, ready to go. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight… baby?” he tries, testing out the pet name.

You say nothing, just smiling at him one last time before you let go of his hand and step inside, leaving him standing there, heart fluttering, wondering when he’ll get to hold you again.

-

Chan stands in front of the mirror, buttoning up his shirt, though leaving the cuffs open for now. He can’t help but think what a shame it is—looking this good and going to the wedding without a date. You had refused his invitation, but he can’t fault you for it. There’s something good in your intentions, and all he can do is be understanding.

He’s about to grab his suit jacket when there’s a knock at the door. With a smile, he heads to open it, already knowing who it is.

There you stand, a can of hairspray in one hand and a hair straightener in the other. “It’s your hair appointment,” you announce with a grin.

Chan chuckles and motions you inside. He sits in front of the mirror while you stand behind him, carefully styling his hair. As he watches you work, he’s struck by how focused you look—creases forming between your brows, your lips slightly pursed in concentration. He never thought it was possible for someone to be both cute and sexy at the same time, but here you are, proving him wrong.

“Would that suffice?” you ask after spraying his hair one last time.

“No,” Chan says, his tone playful, “not if you’re not coming with me.”

You smile but don’t respond, busying yourself with taming the last few stray hairs at the nape of his neck. “You’re done now,” you announce, satisfied with your work.

He glances at himself in the mirror and smiles. “Aren’t you going to kiss me on the cheek and tell me I look handsome?”

“I don’t remember saying that,” you tease, tidying up the clutter on the table.

Chan stands, smoothing down his shirt, but there’s one more thing to complete his look. He picks up the tie from the table and holds it out to you. “We still have a problem here.”

You glance up, understanding immediately. Without a word, you take the tie from his hands and skillfully knot it around his collar. Your fingers work quickly, and before long, the tie is secured neatly in place.

“Okay, you’re ready now,” you say with a nod.

Chan puts on his suit jacket, then spins around with his arms spread wide, showing off the full look. “How do I look?”

You step closer, and to his surprise, you plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “You look handsome,” you say with a soft smile.

He stands there for a moment, warmth spreading through him from that simple gesture. It’s enough to make him feel like he’s already won, even if he’s going to the wedding alone. He places his hands gently on your waist and pulls you closer, his voice soft but persuasive.

"It's not too late to text Lee and tell him to come another day," he suggests, his eyes searching yours for any sign of reconsideration.

You chuckle lightly, looping your arms around his shoulders. "I don’t think it's wise to cancel it on the last minute," you explain, your tone gentle but firm.

He nods, accepting your decision even though it’s not the answer he wanted. At least you have a good reason, and it’s not as if you’re choosing your ex over him. But the tension lingers, and Chan pulls you even closer, savoring this tender moment before Lee shows up and disrupts his day. He knows he has no reason to be jealous, but it nags at him anyway—what if Lee has other intentions with this visit?

"Can't you just... put his things in a box and mail it to him?" He asks, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice.

You chuckle again, tilting your head slightly. "We’re grown-ups, Chris. We broke up on good terms. I don’t see why we can’t be civil after everything."

Chan tightens his grip around you, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "But what if he asks you to get back with him?"

Instead of answering, you raise an eyebrow and ask, "And you think I’d say yes?"

His grin widens, a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

You shake your head, smiling. "Oh, Chris... you're ridiculous."

He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. "Yeah, but I had to ask. I just don't like the idea of him coming around."

"He's just going to come, pick up his things, and leave," you explain, trying to reassure Chan that there’s no need for jealousy.

Chan takes the opportunity to pull you even closer, his arms tightening around you with a possessive gleam in his eyes. "No deep talking, no reminiscing the shared memories, okay? No smiling either," he warns, his voice full of playful intensity.

You laugh at his protectiveness, letting him rest his forehead against yours.

"I love the way you smile," he says suddenly, the words catching you off guard. "I want to tell you to do it more often, but I don't."

"Why?" you ask, curiosity piqued.

"Because you don’t give it to everyone," Chan murmurs, his lips grazing your cheek as he moves to whisper in your ear. "And I don’t plan on sharing you."

The possessive edge in his voice stirs something in you, and you feel yourself relax, leaning into his embrace. His fingers cup your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly as he draws closer, his gaze flicking down to your lips.

Just as he’s about to close the gap, a knock sounds—not on his door, but across the hall. You gently break away from his hold, heading to check with Chan trailing behind, a bit flustered.

"Oh, Lee, I'm sorry, I was at Chris's place," you say as you open the door and spot your ex, Lee, standing there.

"Oh hey," Lee greets you, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. A hug that, to Chan, feels way too long. Chan clears his throat loudly, making his presence known.

Lee finally lets go of you and acknowledges him. "Oh, hey, Chris," Lee says, extending his hand for a handshake.

Chan hates that Lee’s actually being nice—he's a good guy, and that makes him feel like the bad guy.

"Hey, Lee," Chan mutters, reluctantly shaking his hand.

"You look dashing. Going somewhere?" Lee asks, genuinely.

"Yeah, uh... a friend's wedding," Chan replies, his earlier hostility fading slightly.

As they exchange pleasantries, you unlock your door and gesture for Lee to come inside. "Please, come in," you say.

"Are you joining us, Chris?" Lee asks, seriously offering for him to stay.

Chan would love nothing more than to stay and keep an eye on things, but he checks the time on his phone and realizes he’s already pushing it if he doesn’t leave now. "I have to go, actually," he says, regret heavy in his voice.

"What a pity! I brought us food," Lee says to you, smiling. "It’s the baked ziti from your favorite place."

You smile awkwardly, glancing at Chan. "That’s so nice of you, Lee."

"See you next time, Chris," Lee says as he steps into your apartment.

Chan sighs, feeling torn between wanting to stay and knowing he has to leave. His chest tightens as he glances at you one last time.

"I’ll see you later, okay?" you say, smiling, though it does little to comfort him.

"Don’t smile at him!" Chan grumbles, trying to cling to his playfully jealous tone.

You laugh softly and surprise him by stepping forward, placing a quick but tender peck on his lips. The brief contact sends butterflies swirling in his stomach.

"Have fun at the wedding," you say sweetly, flashing him one last smile before closing the door.

Chan stands there for a moment, his heart racing, the taste of your lips lingering. He shakes his head, smiling to himself as he turns to leave, knowing that despite everything, you’re still his.

-

Seeing that most of the guests have already left and only a few remain on the dance floor, Chan decides it’s time to wrap up his set. Grabbing the mic, he announces, "Everyone, this is the last dance."

His suit is no longer in its proper form—he ditched the jacket long ago, his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. He inhales deeply, satisfied with a job well done.

As he packs up, his friend, the groom's brother, hands him a bottle of champagne as a token of gratitude. "You killed it, mate. Thanks for stepping in."

"Anytime, man," Chan says with a grin, accepting the bottle. Just as he’s about to take a sip, a voice interrupts him.

"Are you planning on sharing that?"

He turns around, surprised to see someone he least expected. "Sue?"

"Oh, I thought you forgot about me," Sue says with a teasing smile.

How could he? Sue was his first love, the one who gave him his first heartbreak. She’s older and taller than him, just like before, but Chan sees her differently now—not as the boy who once idolized her, but as a man. Yet, the admiration still lingers.

Sue chuckles and gives him a quick hug. "Of all places, we meet here?"

"I know, right?" Chan shakes his head, still bewildered. "My friend is the brother of the bride."

"And I’m one of the groom's family," Sue says, showing off the dress. "What a small world!"

They share the bottle of champagne in the garden, sitting by the pool as they catch up. The evening air is warm, and the conversation flows easily.

"Is it alright that you're here with me?" Chan asks, glancing around as though expecting someone to pop up and claim her.

"Why wouldn’t it be?" Sue replies.

"I don’t know. I figured your boyfriend would be looking for you soon," Chan jokes, though there’s a part of him that’s curious.

"I don’t have a boyfriend," Sue says casually, taking a sip from the bottle.

Chan arches an eyebrow. "That's a lie!"

Sue playfully elbows him. "Oh, I know you’re happy to know I’m single," she teases.

"You can’t be single," Chan insists.

"But I am," she assures him, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"No way," Chan shakes his head, unable to believe it. "I mean, you’re taller and more beautiful than the last time we met. You can’t be single."

Sue leans in, her tone shifting ever so slightly. "And maybe that's why we met again tonight."

The suggestion in her voice throws him off balance, and before he can say anything, they bump into a group of people running around in their underwear, dripping wet and giggling as they pass by. Some guests have clearly taken the after-party to the hot tub.

Sue looks at the now-empty, steaming hot tub and asks, "What do you think?"

"You... you want to get in the hot tub?" Chan asks, incredulous.

"You and me, together," Sue says with a mischievous grin, her fingers already reaching for the zipper of her dress.

Chan's eyes widen as she strips down to her undergarments, standing confidently in front of him.

Before he can protest, she grabs his hand and pulls him toward the tub. "Come on! It’s getting cold!"

Seeing no harm in it—and after all, it’s been a lovely night—Chan relents. He strips down to his boxers and slowly lowers himself into the steaming water. The heat engulfs him, relaxing his muscles.

Sue leans back in the tub, her fingers playfully skimming the surface of the water. "Chris, you’ve really grown since the last time I saw you."

"Nah, I’m still the same," Chan says, feeling oddly shy. Despite the years that have passed, Sue still has a way of making him feel like a nervous kid.

"You're... hot. Like, really hot," Sue says with a giggle, her eyes sweeping over him.

Chan shakes his head, his ears turning red. "Nah, nah."

Sue moves closer, her voice dropping. "I’ll admit, I regretted rejecting you back then."

"You’re only saying that to make me feel better," Chan says, trying to deflect, but there’s a seriousness in her eyes that throws him off.

"Let's hope that's the case," Sue replies, and for a moment, their gazes lock, the tension thickening between them.

The heat of the water and the intensity of her gaze make Chan’s heart race, and he’s not sure if it’s just the temperature that’s making him feel this way. "It’s getting late," he finally says, breaking the moment.

"Yeah, you’re right," Sue agrees, being the first to climb out of the tub. She picks up her dress from the sun chair—and grabs Chan’s clothes as well.

"Hey, Chris," she says, a devilish grin spreading across her face as he’s about to step out of the water. "I have your clothes."

Before he can react, Sue takes off running, leaving Chan standing there, drenched and half-dressed.

"Sue!" Chan shouts, scrambling to get out of the tub. With no other option, he chases after her, his laughter echoing in the night.

As a family member of the wedded family, Sue has a room reserved at the resort, and she generously offers it to Chan so he can clean up after their impromptu dip in the hot tub. Chan stands in the bathroom, holding a hair dryer in one hand and his damp boxers in the other. He’s wrapped in a towel, waiting for his clothes to dry as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other.

"Chris, are you done?" Sue’s voice calls from outside the door.

"Almost done!" Chan shouts back, his voice strained. The air in the bathroom is warm and heavy, matching the tension he feels in his chest.

Before he can finish drying his boxers, Sue barges into the bathroom, still in her wet undergarments, her towel loosely wrapped around her. She doesn’t seem to care that he’s there.

"I can't wait any longer," she announces, her voice playful but firm as she strides confidently toward the shower stall, tossing her towel to the floor.

Chan swallows hard, eyes widening as she starts stripping out of her wet underwear. His gaze flickers to the mirror, catching glimpses of her body before he quickly tries to avert his eyes, heat rising to his face.

"I–I'm almost done..." Chan mumbles, his voice barely audible now as he turns the hair dryer off, but his words trail off because Sue isn’t listening. She’s busy shedding the last of her clothing, standing completely exposed now, her back to him.

His heart pounds, and though he desperately tries to look away, his eyes betray him, catching her figure in the reflection again. She moves toward the shower, but then she pauses, noticing his gaze through the mirror. A small smile curves her lips as she saunters back toward him, utterly confident.

"Chris," she says, her voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that sends a shiver down his spine. She steps closer, her bare body now in full view. "Want to shower together?"

Chan’s throat tightens, and he can’t seem to find the words. His mind is racing, caught between a surge of old feelings and the shocking reality of the moment. Sue stands there, teasingly exposed, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

Chan was a boy back then but now, he's just a man.

-

Is Chan still mad about Lee visiting you? Or did he go somewhere after the wedding and forget to tell you? Or... maybe he simply doesn't want to see you?

You’ve been turning these thoughts over in your mind ever since that night. You thought he’d come over after the wedding, share his usual stories about the day, about anything, really—like he always does. But the silence has been unsettling.

Coming home from work today, you half-expect to see him standing at his door, greeting you with that dimpled grin, his usual "Hi, neighbor." But all you see is his closed door.

You convince yourself that if Chan wants to see you, he’ll come around like usual, to poke fun at you or make you laugh. But it’s been too long now, and a knot of worry forms in your chest. What if he’s sick? What if something’s wrong?

After dropping off your bags and changing into comfortable clothes, you make up your mind and head over to his door. You knock, heart thudding with anticipation. A few moments later, you hear footsteps from inside.

When the door creaks open, there he is. He looks well—he looks good, as usual—but something feels off. There’s no dimpled grin, no sparkle in his eyes.

"Hey, can I come in?" you ask, hoping your voice doesn't betray the unease creeping in.

"Sure," he says, stepping aside to let you enter.

You walk in and sit on the sofa, waiting for him to join you. The silence feels heavier than usual, and he seems distant, avoiding your gaze.

"How are you?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

He lets out a long sigh before replying, "I’m good." He says but it doesn’t feel like the truth.

"That’s good to hear," you say, though you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

You reach out to press your hand gently against his forehead. "You’re not sick, are you?"

He lets you touch him, and you tease, "Ooh... you’re still the hottest tenant in this building."

You hope the joke might lighten the mood, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s faint, distant. You don’t want to push him too hard, but this isn’t Chan. Not the Chan you know.

"Are you trying a new persona?" you tease again, nudging him lightly. "Because this brooding emo guy thing doesn’t suit you."

This time, he chuckles, and the sound makes your heart lift a little. He finally looks at you, and his hand reaches for yours, fingers loosely intertwining with yours in the space between you on the sofa.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, the apology catching you off guard.

"What for?" you ask, scooting closer to him, sensing that he’s carrying something heavy. You want to comfort him, whatever it is.

He leans back against the sofa, exhaling deeply. You wait, giving him the space to gather his thoughts.

"I met someone at the wedding," he begins, his voice careful.

A flicker of unease ripples through you, but you don’t say anything. You stay calm, letting him explain.

"Oh no, don't say you ran away with the bride," you joke, but it's more to ease the tension you feel building inside you.

Chan doesn’t react. He keeps looking straight ahead, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

"I met Sue," he starts, his voice struggling to push the words out. "She’s... someone I knew from the past."

You stay quiet, sensing that there’s more he needs to get out, but the pauses between his words are long and heavy.

"We met there, talked, had some drinks... and we ended up taking a quick dip in the hot tub."

"Sounds fun," you say, but your voice is flat, far from convincing.

He swallows hard, visibly uncomfortable. "We ended up in her hotel room... we were in the bathroom at the same time, and then... she asked if I wanted to shower with her."

Your heart sinks, but you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You stare down at your lap, your thoughts swirling, every unkind possibility flashing through your mind.

"I didn’t take her up on it," he quickly adds, "but... I hesitated. And in that moment, I realized I completely dismissed your feelings. I hate myself for it." His voice cracks with regret, and you can see the pain etched across his face.

"Maybe I haven’t changed at all," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "Maybe I’ll always be... this... ‘fuckboy Chris.’" He lets out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back as if trying to escape the weight of his own thoughts.

He turns to look at you, his eyes full of sadness. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not ready for this." His voice is small now, hesitant. "And I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue."

It’s a lot to take in. The silence fills the room, and you let yourself feel everything. The disappointment, the hurt, the empathy. You need time, just a few moments, to let it all sink in.

When you finally lift your head, you give him a soft, bittersweet smile. "Thank you for being honest with me," you begin, your voice steady but quiet. "And I know it wasn’t easy to say... but I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed."

His expression is heartbreaking. "I’m really sorry," he whispers.

"But Chris..." You take his hand, resting it on your lap, your fingers curling around his. "The fact that you acknowledged what you did was wrong, and that you took responsibility for it, shows me you're on the right path."

His eyes shift, the glints of warmth starting to return. "Don’t ever say you can’t change. You’re changing... I can see it, believe me."

Chan lets out a breath, his relief palpable. He pulls you closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Goodness, what did I do to deserve you?"

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arm around his shoulder. "You don’t have to be perfect for me, Chris. You just need to be good for yourself."

He buries his head into the curve of your neck, his arms tight around you, holding on as if to remind himself this isn’t the end. Not yet.

"But, you know..." you tease, your voice light. "You could always quit now."

"Never!" he exclaims, pulling you even tighter into his embrace.

The two of you sit there, holding onto each other, your flaws laid bare. The silence between you feels different now—it's full of understanding, and something deeper starting to grow.

Chan tenderly cups your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and his eyes soften as they lock with yours.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," he whispers, his voice full of quiet gratitude.

You meet his gaze, the same emotions swirling within you. "Thank you for not giving up on me," you echo, because this journey hasn't been easy for either of you.

The moment between you is tender, delicate, and charged with something deeper—something that goes beyond words. You can feel it in the air, and in the way he looks at you. It feels right, like it needs to be sealed with something more, something real.

Your hands gently cradle his face, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. You swipe your thumb across his mouth, your touch lingering as you think about how much you missed the feel of him, the taste of him. Slowly, you lean in, closing the space between you, and press your lips to his.

The kiss feels unlike any you've shared before. It's soft, deliberate, and filled with all the unsaid emotions between you. His lips move against yours with such tenderness, and in that moment, everything melts away—the hesitation, the doubts, the fear. This kiss marks the start of something new, something deeper.

Chan kisses you gently, and it makes your heart tremble in your chest. Every brush of his lips against yours speaks of the emotions he's been holding back, the sadness and the sweetness of what you’ve both been through. It’s bittersweet and lovely, all at once.

This kiss signifies that you’re ready—both of you are ready to take this leap, to explore this new depth together.

When the kiss breaks, Chan can’t help but smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and joy. He buries his head in your neck, inhaling your familiar scent that always calms him down. The feeling of your hand rubbing his back as you rest your head against him only solidifies how grateful he is that you're here, that he didn’t lose you.

He almost blew it, and yet here you are, forgiving him, giving him another chance. It's moments like this that make him certain—you’re the right person for him. Everything feels just... right.

You interrupt the peaceful silence with a playful tone, "It's your turn now."

"My turn for what?" Chan asks, momentarily confused as he lifts his head to look at you.

"Your turn to host the pajama party," you say, reminding him of the promise he’d made.

For a second, he’d forgotten all about that. "Huh?" he blurts out before realizing what you mean.

"I'll bring the snacks," you offer, and Chan nods, still smiling.

"Okay," he agrees without hesitation.

But you quickly add, "No weird movies, please?"

He can’t help himself from teasing you. "I know this French porn movie where the man—"

"Don’t make me cancel it," you cut him off, shooting him a stern look.

Chan laughs, "Okay, no French porn movies. Noted."

A mischievous idea crosses his mind as he playfully grins. "It's my party, though. I can do whatever I want, right?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly seeing through his intentions, but to his surprise, you don’t outright protest. "Well... yes."

His grin widens as countless thoughts—most of them lewd and not remotely innocent—flood his mind. You’ve given him too much freedom now, and with that playful look in his eyes, Chan’s already thinking of ways to push your buttons.

-

The pajama party is officially on, and Chan has everything set to perfection. The bed faces the TV, freshly made with new sheets, and a scented candle flickers nearby, filling the room with a light, romantic scent. He carefully curated a movie list that’ll support the atmosphere he’s trying to create—a mix of feel-good films with enough romantic tension to get you in the mood.

As for himself, he keeps it simple yet calculated—gray sweatpants, worn low enough on his hips to give you a glimpse of his pelvic bones, knowing full well how much you like that.

He checks the room once more, muttering to himself, "What else? What else?"

After a while, he spots something."The lights!" he says, darting toward the switch.

Setting the lights to a soft, dim glow, it ensures the perfect balance—just enough to see but low enough to encourage a little closeness.

Just as everything’s ready, you arrive, right on time. He’s been buzzing with excitement, but he tamps it down, making sure to keep his face casual as he opens the door slowly.

"I'm on an all-protein diet, but I can't say no to this snack," he teases, his eyes shamelessly traveling down your body. There’s a flicker of disappointment when he sees you in an oversized sweater, hiding your figure.

You hand him the bag of snacks with a smirk, "I hope you like grapes!"

He places the bag on the table, watching as you stroll into the room, eyes observing the cozy setup he’s prepared.

"I see that you did a little renovation." You comment with eyes narrowed.

"And I see that you're not dressed according to the dress code," he quips, pointing at your large, cozy sweater with a mock frown.

"Is it necessary though?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, already anticipating his answer.

"Yes," he insists, determined.

You sigh in playful defeat, tugging at the hem of your sweater and lifting it over your head, revealing a short, black slip dress underneath. It's silky, tight, and leaves just enough to the imagination—but not too much.

As you bend slightly to place the sweater on the sofa, Chan catches a glimpse of the lacey black underwear peeking out beneath the dress. His eyes widen for a second, and his pulse quickens. Suddenly, he wonders if maybe insisting on the dress code was too good of an idea. That slip dress, especially with the way it clings to you, is dangerous.

Oh, this is going to be fun, he thinks, trying to steady his breathing as he watches you settle in, completely unaware of the effect you’re having on him.

"Do you want me to prepare the snack or something?" you ask, snapping Chan out of his daze. He’s been standing there for what feels like a full minute, just staring at you.

He quickly averts his gaze, trying to shake off the image of your nipples lightly pressing through the silky fabric of your slip dress. It's too much of a distraction. "No, I'll do it. You can just..."

"I'll just get comfortable," you say with a teasing smile, turning away and heading toward the bed. His eyes can’t help but follow the way the hem of your slip rides up with each step, revealing more of your thighs than he's ready to handle.

He manages to gather his thoughts long enough to prepare the snacks. When he returns with the tray, he finds you nestled in the bed, already looking far too comfortable. A pillow is propped behind your back, your legs casually stacked and splayed across the bed, and the hem of your slip dress rides dangerously high, showing off even more skin.

You crawl over to the side of the bed, the neckline of your dress dipping low and giving him an accidental peek at your soft, unrestrained curves. You help him place the snacks on the bed, and his mind keeps wandering as he tries not to lose focus.

"So, what are we watching tonight?" you ask, clearly unaware of the war going on inside his head.

"I don't know," Chan blurts out without thinking, his mind still stuck on how your body moves so effortlessly in that dress.

Your brow furrows, and you pout in response to his non-answer.

"I mean, I've chosen a few, but I’ll let you make the final decision," he says, completely surrendering control of the night, which had not been part of his plan.

He places the tray of snacks in the empty space on the bed, and you pick up a chip, popping it into your mouth with a playful grin. He takes a seat next to you, keeping a safe distance—for now.

"Okay, now I’m curious about your choice of movies," you say as you crawl over him to reach for the remote.

The scent of your skin, the warmth of your body so close, it’s all so utterly distracting. His breath catches as you move over him, the proximity stirring something deeper inside.

"No porn," you say with a laugh, scrolling through his movie selections. "That’s a good start."

Chan grins, but the effect you have on him is overwhelming. He needs to cool down fast before his mind strays too far. Thinking quickly, he suggests an action movie, something that could help him focus on anything other than you.

You agree without hesitation and settle back against the pillows as the movie starts, the room dimly lit, and the night now filled with a tension that neither of you can completely ignore.

"So, the father no longer lives with his daughter?" you ask, eyes glued to the screen while Chan’s attention remains fixed on your body.

"Uh-huh, yeah," he mumbles, clearly distracted.

"I don't like the stepfather," you comment about the movie, unaware of how little Chan is actually paying attention.

You turn your head to him, catching him in the act of staring. You pretend not to notice, reaching casually for a grape from the bowl he's holding. But as you bring it to your mouth, it slips from your fingers, rolling down Chan’s bare stomach and stopping right at the waistband of his sweatpants.

Without hesitation, you innocently reach for the grape, your hand brushing dangerously close to where he’s most sensitive. The moment is fleeting, but it lingers for Chan. He feels the heat rise in his chest as your fingers pull the grape free and pop it into your mouth as if nothing happened.

For a second, he’s frozen, his breath catching as the proximity of your touch leaves him wanting more. His carefully crafted plans for tonight? They seem to be backfiring, with you unintentionally driving him wild.

-

Chan may think all your actions were innocent accidents, but little does he know every move was calculated. You've been noticing his wandering gaze, the way he keeps getting distracted by you rather than the movie. His bare torso, though distracting, only adds fuel to your own plans.

When the first movie ends, you decide it’s time to build a little anticipation. You scoot to the edge of the bed, casually announcing, "Bathroom break."

You linger in the bathroom longer than necessary, letting the tension grow. When you return, Chan has cleared the tray and is fluffing your pillow—a sight that makes you grin inwardly. He’s already under your control.

"Can we watch a romcom next?" you ask as you climb back onto the bed, this time settling even closer to him.

"Sure," Chan agrees without hesitation, confirming that you've got him wrapped around your finger.

The second movie begins, and a few minutes in, you fake a yawn, casually resting your head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move at first, but eventually, his arm slips around you, his hand gently rubbing your arm. You smile softly, knowing you’ve set the perfect stage.

You lower your voice and whisper, "She’s beautiful, don’t you think?" referring to the actress on screen.

"Yes, she is," Chan replies quickly, too quickly.

You chuckle, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "I thought you'd say something like, 'but you're more beautiful,'" you tease.

That comment finally breaks his concentration on the movie. He looks at you, eyes locking with yours. The tension between you simmers, everything falling into place.

"You are more beautiful," he says, catching you off guard with how sincere he sounds.

You gently hold his chin, making sure his gaze stays on you. "Yeah?"

"Yes," his voice is low, thick with desire.

"Thank you," you sweetly murmur, leaning in to plant a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth. It's a tease, just enough to leave him wanting more.

Chan is clearly struggling to hold on, but you're determined to push him further. You move swiftly, pulling one of his legs aside and slipping between them to sit.

The sheer panic in his voice when he asks, "What are you doing?" is impossible to miss.

“I want to sit here so we can cuddle,” you reply, playing the innocent card. You settle yourself against his chest, making sure to let out a low, sultry hum as you lean back into him.

He remains tense for a moment, but you feel him give in, his hands slowly trailing down your sides. His fingers gently squeeze your waist, and then his arm wraps around you, pulling you in close. His lips find your skin, starting with soft kisses on the top of your head, then trailing down the side of your face and to your bare shoulder. Each kiss becomes more ragged, more desperate, and you can feel the weight of his breath against your skin.

Finally, he turns your head, and the intensity in his eyes says it all—he’s done resisting. His lips crash into yours, the kiss raw, hungry, filled with more than just lust. It’s deep, hard, and leaves you breathless. You're barely keeping up as he kisses you with an urgency that feels like he’s been waiting for this forever.

“How can I walk away from this?” he asks, his voice heavy with emotion, his forehead resting against yours.

You smile, your lips barely grazing his as you reply, "You don’t, because it's your party, and you can do what you want."

That’s all it takes. Something inside him snaps. Chan gives in entirely, kissing you more feverishly, his hands roaming your body, touching you everywhere at once. You feel his fingers tug at the hem of your slip dress, and you lift your body slightly, allowing him to pull it off. The fabric falls away, leaving nothing between his hands and your skin.

“You’re so soft it's ridiculous,” he murmurs in awe, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You watch as his hands trail down your arms, over your shoulders, down your sides, claiming every inch of you. He traces the lines of your body like he’s memorizing them, his breath hot against your neck as he leaves searing kisses along the way.

“Everywhere my hand slides, you fit me,” he whispers, showing you just how well with every touch—from your throat to your breasts, your hips, and down. His mouth follows his hands, kissing, tasting, marking you.

You let out a quiet whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. “Please let me touch you too,” you manage to whisper.

Chan doesn’t hesitate. He flips you over so that you’re straddling him, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your every move. You waste no time, leaning in to kiss his neck, trailing your hands down his broad shoulders. Your fingers explore the firm muscles of his chest, and your lips follow, savoring the feel of his skin against yours.

You pause, admiring his sculpted abs, running your hands over them. "How do you even look like this?" you ask, awestruck.

Chan grins shyly, clearly not used to the compliments. “I don’t have anything better to do than go to the gym.”

“You do now,” you tease, tugging at him playfully.

Before he can react, you pull him down with you, both of you collapsing onto the bed together, laughing as the tension between you grows thicker.

In the dim light of the TV, Chan’s body hovers over yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he props himself on one elbow. You can feel the tension in the air, the weight of everything unsaid building between you. His eyes are locked onto yours, and you respond by slipping your hand down into his sweatpants, wrapping your fingers around him.

The way he groans, half-broken, sends a shiver down your spine. His hardness pulses under your touch, and each breath he takes sounds more ragged than the last. It’s intoxicating, knowing how undone he is because of you. Every stroke of your hand, every gentle squeeze makes him unravel a little more, and for a fleeting moment, you realize just how much power you have over him.

But before you can dwell on it, you feel his mouth. It takes you a second to pinpoint where, but then you feel it—hot and hungry, kissing your abdomen. His lips trail down, kissing along the curve of your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. The tension coils tighter inside you with each kiss.

With a playful grin, Chan grips the elastic band of your underwear between his teeth. The memory of last time flashes in your mind, and you can’t help but laugh at the familiar sight.

"Someone better not interrupt me again," he mutters between clenched teeth, determination and amusement laced in his voice as he tugs at the fabric.

The laughter bubbles out of you, half from the tickling sensation of his chin grazing your skin, half from the irony. But soon enough, the underwear slips away, and your laughter turns into a breathy sigh.

Chan wastes no time, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. You can barely catch the words he murmurs between kisses, your focus completely stolen by the feel of his lips and tongue, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

It’s too much, and not enough all at once.

Your legs part instinctively, and you know exactly what’s coming next. Anticipation swirls inside you, tightening in your core as Chan’s mouth ventures dangerously close to where you need him most.

The first contact of Chan’s mouth on your wetness is deliberate—a slow, teasing swirl that feels like the soft lick you’d give to the top of a melting ice cream cone. The sudden sensation draws a sharp gasp from your lips, and you almost snort from the intensity of it. He rewards you with a soft kiss on your inner thigh, as if pleased with himself.

The second contact is a gentle kiss, a reminder of the first kiss you shared. It’s pure, almost chaste, without any tongue, yet it holds a promise of what’s to come. As you stare up at the dark ceiling, a single thought pulses through your mind—you deeply wish that his kisses were meant for no one else but you.

Then comes the third, another kiss that slowly progressing from pure and innocent to something much dirtier. His lips linger and press deeper, his tongue tracing lines that send electric shocks through your entire body.

Chan takes his time, savoring every second, and with each passing minute, your body alternates between moments of tension and relaxation, yielding completely to him.

All of a sudden, he lifts his head, groaning in frustration. "I can’t handle it..." His voice is rough, desperate. He rests the side of his head on your thigh, his fingers lightly circling your clit as he breathes out, "I need more. Please."

His words are strained, raw with need. He’s hanging on by a thread, teetering on the edge, and you know that if you don’t give him what he wants soon, he might just break. You slide your hand through his curls, tugging lightly to bring his gaze back to yours.

“More?” you ask, voice low, teasing, though his desperation makes your heart race.

"Way, way more," he whispers, the hunger in his voice unmistakable.

You smile softly, the pet name slipping out so naturally it surprises you. "Okay, baby."

At that, Chan hurriedly kneels, shedding his sweatpants in a rush, and when his erection springs free, it’s impossible not to stare. The sheer size of him, the desire etched across his face, it’s all aimed at you, and the heat between you intensifies.

He positions himself above you, taking your hands and tangling them with his own, pinning them above your head. "Finally..." he breathes, his voice thick with excitement and relief, almost bordering on ecstasy.

Despite the waiting, the teasing, you realize you were just as desperate as he was for this moment, "Finally..." you repeat.

As he pushes his hard length into you, he does it slowly, savoring every inch as your body adjusts to him. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can hear every sound that escapes his lips—soft gasps, sighs of pleasure, as if he’s trying to survive this moment and let it consume him all at once.

Fully sheathed inside you, he flexes his hips, and your eyes flutter shut. The sensation of him filling you, hot and hard, is overwhelming. It’s perfect.

"God, I was so right," he groans, his voice filled with awe. "You fit me perfectly"

Chan kneels again, his muscles contracting, his skin flushed red from the intensity. The view of him above you—his sculpted chest and arms—is breathtaking. He starts moving, each thrust measured, controlled. You can feel the pressure building inside you, and something similar to panic grips your chest, a raw intensity that threatens to overwhelm you.

“Talk to me,” Chan murmurs, leaning down to place a quick kiss on your lips.

You smile weakly, your eyes half-closed as you try to keep yourself together. "This is... this is nice," you mumble, barely coherent as your mind reels from the pleasure.

He looks almost offended, his brow furrowing as if the word "nice" is beneath him. "Nice, huh?" he repeats, voice low and teasing.

Before you can respond, his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you just enough to create a new angle. The depth he reaches now makes your breath hitch, and any attempt at keeping a coherent thought vanishes as he thrusts harder.

"Nice is good..." you start to say, but the words are swallowed by a moan as his pace increases, hitting just the right spot with every thrust. Your eyes roll back, and he grins at the reaction he pulls from you.

“I don’t do... nice,” Chan says with a smirk, leaning down as his movements grow faster, deeper, shaking the bed with every thrust.

You let out a sob, the sensation too much, and your body tightens around him, trembling as the knot in your stomach pulls tighter and tighter. It’s a battle to hold on, but there’s no escaping what’s coming.

Chan hovers lower, his face close to yours as he studies every expression, his hips moving with precision. "Is it still nice?" he growls, his voice hoarse.

You can’t answer, not with the way he’s pushing you right to the edge. Your breath hitches, and just as you open your mouth to say something, a desperate cry escapes as your body finally gives in, releasing all the tension in a wave of pure ecstasy. You cling to the sheets, legs shaking, your voice echoing in the room as Chan continues to drive into you.

Moments later, you feel Chan reach his own peak, his body shuddering against yours as he releases with a deep, guttural groan, collapsing onto you, exhausted and trembling from the intensity of it all.

Once he's come to his senses, he lets out a shy laugh, his cheeks flushed. He’s so different from the brash, confident man you expected him to be—soft and vulnerable in ways you didn’t anticipate. You gently stroke his cheek, feeling a surge of affection for this man you’re getting to know in a completely new way.

"We’re going to miss the end of the movie," you tease, glancing at the TV still flickering in the background.

Chan laughs, his voice rich and warm. "I think we finished just in time."

-

Every time Chan wakes up in the morning, he no longer wonders where he is. He’s right where he belongs, lying next to you.

On weekdays, you live your separate lives, each sleeping in your own beds. But on weekends, you’re his, and he makes the most of it. It’s not just about sex—though there’s plenty of that. Your nights are filled with movies, video games, long dinners, and endless cuddling that eventually leads to even more sex.

Once, he warned you that it would take him days, weeks, maybe even years to get enough of you.

As expected, your alarm rings just as Chan is about to pull you closer, his arms instinctively reaching for you. With a quick motion, he grabs your phone, turns off the alarm, and shoves it under his pillow, refusing to let you go.

“Work,” you murmur, still half-asleep, rubbing your eyes as you reach for your phone.

“You know what time it is,” he teases, pulling you on top of him with ease.

Chan brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears so he can plant soft kisses all over your face. When his lips finally reach yours, his hand glides down your spine, resting on your rear before slipping his fingers under your underwear, teasing you through the fabric.

"Chris..." you mewl, your voice a mix of protest and desire.

“It’s either we do it here or in the shower,” he says, voice thick with need. He doesn’t care about the setting—he just knows he needs you to start his day right.

“As long as you’re doing all the work,” you reply, half teasing, half serious.

His eyes widen in disbelief. "Since when do you ever—"

You cut him off with a kiss, your lips pressing firmly against his. "Are we doing this or not?"

No matter how much you protest, Chan always gets what he wants. And he knows you secretly love catering to his desires, just as much as he loves pleasing you.

Your lips move together again as he pulls his cock out of his boxers, positioning himself. You lean forward, lowering yourself onto him slowly, feeling him fill you inch by inch. His hands rest on your hips as you stay on all fours, your back arching beautifully while he thrusts into you from below.

You glance down, watching his cock move in and out of you, and let out a playful giggle. “How do you have so much energy in the morning?” you ask, a little amazed.

He grins up at you, his hips never stopping their rhythm. Honestly, just looking at you is all he needs to feel alive in the morning. Your moans, your smile, the way you move—it all drives him wild.

“That feels so good, baby,” you purr, leaning down to kiss him deeply.

Chan’s mind wanders for a brief second, wondering how he got so lucky. There was a time when he feared you might think this was only physical, that he mistook lust for something deeper. But now, he knows it’s not just his body that craves you—his heart does too.

“What are you thinking, mmh?” you ask, your nose brushing against his.

"Nothing," he murmurs, looking at you with the softest expression. "I’m just so happy."

You smile at him, pressing another kiss to his lips, and he holds you close, your bodies fitting perfectly together as he continues to move, his hips rocking into yours until both of you are lost in the sensation.

When you finally reach your peak, he follows, planting his seed deep inside you to complete what’s now become his favorite morning ritual.

As you get dressed, Chan stays in bed, a satisfied grin plastered across his face. He watches you with lazy, contented eyes, still basking in the afterglow.

"I’ll cook dinner tonight," he says, hands propped behind his head, already thinking of the next time he’ll see you.

"Okay," you reply casually, slipping your sweater over your head.

"It would be easier if you gave me your spare keys," he says, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide the underlying hope in his voice. "So I can cook at your place."

You pause for a moment, a coy smile creeping across your face. "You want the spare keys to my place?"

"Yes," he replies eagerly, sitting up a little straighter, hope flaring in his chest.

"Well..." You walk toward the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder. "You’ll have to earn it first."

As you leave his apartment and head across the hallway to your own, Chan lies back on the bed, his grin widening. It seems he has a new quest: earning the spare keys to your place.

And knowing Chan, he’ll do whatever it takes to get them.

-

Chan knows your morning routine by heart. He lingers in bed for a moment after you leave, his mind wandering back to the last time you were together. Whether it was this morning or the night before, the memories of your body against his make him smile lazily.

Eventually, he gets up, washes up, and grabs a quick breakfast before heading out of the apartment to send you off to work.

As he steps out of his door, he sees a sight that surprises him: you're helping someone unload boxes from the elevator. Without thinking, he rushes over to help, noticing that there are still several boxes left inside.

“You should be on your way to work,” Chan says, more concerned about your punctuality than anything else.

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t get into the stuffed elevator,” you reply with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the time.

Just then, someone else steps out of the elevator, carrying the last box. “You can use it now,” he says, smiling.

You turn to Chan and introduce him, “This is Minho. He’s our new neighbor.”

Then you turn to Minho and gesture to Chan, “And this is Chris, the other neighbor.”

Chan feels a pang of disappointment. Just the "other neighbor"? He swallows it down, deciding to let it go for now.

Minho puts the box down and extends his hand to Chan. “Minho,” he says with a friendly grin.

“Chris,” Chan replies, shaking his hand. As their hands clasp, Chan gets a quick read on him. He knows the type—game recognizes game—but for now, he decides to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I’d better get going,” you say as Minho holds the elevator door open for you.

“Yes, please, I’d be devastated if you were late to work,” Minho says with a smile that seems just a little too smooth.

You laugh softly, waving it off. “It’s fine. No worries.”

That laugh—the ease of your interaction—it’s all too friendly for someone you’ve just met. It takes Chan back a little, knowing how long it took for you to warm up to him. Still, he lets it slide again.

As you move to leave, Chan pulls you close, intending to kiss you goodbye, but at the last second, you turn your head, and the kiss lands awkwardly on your jaw.

“Bye,” you say softly before stepping into the elevator.

“Have a great day at work, neighbor!” Chan calls after you, trying to play it off with a wave as the doors close.

Left standing in the hallway with Minho, Chan notices the pile of boxes still waiting to be moved into the new neighbor’s apartment. He offers to help, not feeling right about leaving the guy to handle it all alone.

After placing the last box inside, Minho hands Chan a can of soda as thanks. They sit for a moment, taking a breather from the unexpected workout.

“I must say,” Minho says suddenly, cracking open his can, “that was hard to watch.”

Chan’s brows knit together in confusion. “Sorry?”

“You and that pretty neighbor of yours,” Minho continues, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Chan straightens up, his grip tightening on the can. “What are you trying to say?”

Minho lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I can see you like her, but her… I don’t think she likes you back.”

Chan feels the jab, but he doesn’t let it show. He knew there was something off about Minho from the start.

“She introduced you as her mere neighbor,” Minho adds, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “And that kiss dodge? Ouch.”

Chan tries not to take the bait, but it’s impossible not to feel a little stung by the comment. Pissed, actually.

“How long have you been chasing after that cute neighbor?” Minho presses, his chuckle laced with condescension. He doesn’t even give Chan a chance to defend himself.

“Hey, you can mess with me all you want, but not with her,” Chan warns, his voice low, a dark edge creeping in.

Minho only snorts, crushing the empty soda can in his hand before tossing it casually into the trash. “And here I thought you were just like me.”

Chan tenses as Minho steps closer, eyes narrowing with a fierce smile. “I could have that girl in a week,” he declares boldly.

Chan’s jaw clenches. “I told you not to mess with her.”

Minho shrugs, completely unfazed. “Just watch me.”

And with that, it’s clear: there’s a new fuckboy in the area, and Chan’s got more than a little competition.

-

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[kayentokk]

Hey :) How are you doing?

Okay so, i wanted to request a platonic father Aizawa in which he is out patroling and he finds his teen daughter doing something ilegal with her friends or something like that.

Please and thankss :)

A/N; I’m okay thanks for asking! Love this idea, I’ve gotten many requests somewhat related to this lately actually! I’ll be posting those throughout the week. Also sorry it’s taken me a while to get to this! 🥲 I truly believe Aizawa is a girl dad and a softie parent. 

Pairing; Platonic!Father Aizawa x Fem!Daughter Reader

Contains; a little ooc Aizawa, fluff, soft, drug mentions, reader is about 16-17 like mha characters, quirk-less reader, death mentions, bad friends, comfort

wc; 1,763

You weren’t supposed to get caught. In fact, you didn’t even think you would. It wasn’t a big deal anyways, you only did it because you thought it’d be a way to relax with your friends. Plus, if you guys did get caught your backup plan was your father. It wasn’t like he was going to detain you…right?

Wrong.

You were very wrong to believe that your father wouldn’t take you into custody over a little weed with your friends. You just wanted to have fun! Besides, you didn’t want to be the ‘perfect heroes daughter’ who’s a buzzkill. Why couldn’t he understand that? 

There was just so much pressure that came with being the child to a hero. Your friends already joked about how you were too ‘good’ to do anything remotely illegal. Which is part of the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 

Of course he just happened to be patrolling around the alley you and your friends decided to get a little high in. That was just your luck, he didn’t seem mad though. So you thought he’d just tell you guys not to do it anymore, and move on. Nope. Leave it to Aizawa to want to teach you a ‘lesson’ all of a sudden. He was normally just a “don’t do it again,” kind of parent. Mostly because you had never done anything of this caliber before.

“Did you really have to bring me in?”

Silence.

“I mean come on, none of the other heroes care. They’re too busy thinking about protecting the city, shouldn’t you be too? Nobody cares about a couple of kids getting a little buzzed, besides everyone does it nowadays-“

“That doesn’t make it okay y/n.”

You’ve rarely seen him like this, so tense. He didn’t look angry, but you couldn’t shake the feeling you got that he was. It was almost….scary. 

So you resigned to a simple, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Were you really sorry though? Not that much, you still didn’t see the big deal. 

He let out a low grunt, “This is serious y/n, I know you think I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” well he said it first, “but you could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“Hurt? From getting a little high?”

“Criminals lace that stuff all the time, whether it’s with poison, more drugs, or whatever else they decide-“

“Yeah sure, but we got it from a trusted source-“

“And who’s that?” He said crossing his arms. 

Oops.

You decided it’d be best not to respond right now. Especially since the source wasn’t technically trusted, just another kid who got it from someone else. Who probably got it from someone else too.

Sensing your apprehension he decide to drop it, “we’ll revisit that later,” he said waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll drop you off at home, you’re grounded.” 

You internally groaned at that, grounded? That’s a new one, you were starting to really regret your decision. You should have just told your friends no, even if it meant being the ‘buzzkill.’ Then you remembered, your friends-

“What about my friends?”

“We’re working on calling their parents to come pick them up soon.”

“No!-“ you said sharply, “I-I mean, can’t you just let them off? Or something?”

“You know that’s not how this works, they are already getting off with a minor offense. The worst they’re going to get is their parents’ scolding.”

“Dad! You don’t understand-“

“I understand perfectly fine, a bunch of young kids wanted to ‘have fun’ and thought this was the best way to do it.”

Okay maybe he did understand, but not your side. He didn’t get that now you’d officially be the outcast, the top 10 ranked hero’s daughter who gets everyone in trouble. Does he get how embarrassing that is? 

“Come on, let’s get going.”

You stood from the chair leaving the comfort of being shielded, by the small desk separator, from your friends’ piercing gazes. They thought your dad would let you all off too considering the chaos the city’s currently in. 

You nervously waved and mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to them before rushing out the door trying to follow closely behind Aizawa. 

You guys didn’t speak the whole way home, you opted for silence mostly because it wasn’t that big of a deal and he just didn’t know what to say. You had never done anything like that before, or had he just never caught you? When did that start?

He remembered when you were little and you’d give your vegetables to stray animals so you didn’t have to eat them, or when you tried to sneak out at night and he caught you. But those were all pretty minor things, and he was only always concerned with your safety.

You’d never done anything this bad, and in terms of the worst thing you could do of course this wasn’t horrible but he still didn’t get why. It couldn’t have just been for fun.

He entered the house after unlocking the door and opening it for you. Before you could make it to your room, where you’d probably go to sulk, he decided he’d ask.

“Why did you want to do that y/n?”

You stopped and turned around to face him. He was standing in front of the door, and now that you actually took in his appearance he looked tired. His dark circles more prominent, eyes a light pink most likely from his quirk, and his black pants had small patches of dust that had been hastily patted off on them. 

You replied after a moment, briefly forgetting his question, “For fu-“

“And don’t just say for fun, because I know you and there are plenty of other things you would do for fun.”

You huffed resigning to just come out with it, “it was a bet.”

“A bet?”

“My friends bet me that I wouldn’t get high with them since I’m a hero’s daughter.”

“And you decided to take them up on that?”

“Yes, I know it was stupid okay?”

“I know you know, you’re smarter than that. So why’d you say yes?”

Why’d he have to be so persistent? “Maybe because I thought I’d finally get some friends.”

“What do you mean y/n? You do have friends.”

“No, I don’t. Momo, Tsu, and Uraraka only hang out with me out of pity, since you’re their teacher, if they even have time-“

“Pity? Y/n no they don’t, there’s nothing pitiful about you at all-“

You scoffed, “don’t lie. I get you’re my dad and all but be honest with yourself, truly honest.”

“I am being honest. I’d never lie-“

Guess you’d just have to spell it out for him then. “The only daughter you had killed your wife, was born quirk-less, and there’s nothing special about her!” You were shocked at the admission of your own feelings but kept going, “I don’t have a talent, I’m not exceptionally smart, I’m not breathtakingly pretty, and I can’t even make friends!” You listed raising a finger for each reason, “Now tell me what about that is not pitiful?”

After that question there was silence, and Aizawa was just looking at you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until the first tear slid down your nose crease and hit the corner of your lip. Before touching could even wipe your tear or register the sound of footsteps approaching you, you were being hugged. Fully covered by his arms, your head grazing the bottom of his chin where stubble had began to grow, face buried partially into his scarf. 

You heard high pitched wailing, which you hadn’t even registered was you until his hand began to rub up and down your back with quiet ‘shh’s to try calming you.  

“Don’t cry, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, none of it okay?” He began whispering in your ear.

“Your mom and I both knew the challenges she’d have if she gave birth to you. We were well aware, and she wanted to have you. She didn’t care if she’d die in the process, you are our child.”

He continued comforting you, and when you eventually calmed down he let go and gently pulled your face out of his chest so you could look him in his tired, red eyes. “I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough okay? It’s my fault I’m sorry. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you’re perfect. I mean that, I’d never lie. You don’t need a quirk, to be super smart, or have a special talent. You’re perfect to me, okay? And that’s all that matters. You’re important to me,” he said firmly. 

“Okay?”

You sniffled, reaching a hand to wipe your nose, “okay.”

“Hey,” he said turning your face back to his, “I really mean it, I’d be no where without you. And how could you say you’re not beautiful? I know I’m not the best looking hero, but haven’t you seen the pictures of your mom? You take after her, gorgeous. Nothing I’d ever change about you, I don’t regret anything.”

“Okay,” you said slightly unused to him saying these things, “I’ve never heard you say something so corny dad,” you said chuckling trying to lighten the mood. 

At that, he gave a small grin which faded when he remembered your earlier point, “And Ochaco, Tsuyu, and Yaoyorozu do like being your friend. Not just because I’m their teacher, trust me I’m more of a supervisor if anything. I let them figure most stuff out on their own. They wanted to meet and hang out with you. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, you make friends just fine.” 

“I know, I know, it was just heat of the moment stuff dad.”

He let out a sigh of relief, hugged you once more, and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I still have about another hour of night patrol, but I’ll stay here if you want me to?”

“No dad, it’s fine go.”

He looked at you once more as if saying, ‘are you sure?’ 

“Yes I’m sure I’m fine, it’s only an hour anyways.”

“Okay, call me if you need anything, I’ll be back soon,” he said headed towards the door.

“Okay,” you said starting to walk to your room. 

But just before he shut the door you dashed for it and started, “Hey! does this mean-“

“No you’re still grounded,” he said. 

And with that the door shut.

@/cafekitsune for the divider!

[fanfictionalraven]

Unforgettable

Title: Unforgettable

Song Inspiration: Unforgettable by Thomas Rhett

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2,822

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published January, 2018. Flashbacks in italics.

You knew it was stupid to be mad. You weren’t exactly in a “normal” relationship. Dean wasn’t the roses, chocolates, or candle-lit dinners type. And, to be fair, you’d never really considered yourself the type to want those things either. You knew it was stupid to be mad. But, dammit, you couldn’t help it.

One year ago today, you and Dean had met and the chemistry was instantaneous. It had been a great night, the best night of your life honestly. The next day, he brought you back to the bunker and you’d never left. You’d never really defined the relationship, it was a sort of unspoken but obvious dedication.

So maybe it was a little unfair to expect any form of “anniversary” celebration or gifts. But was some form of acknowledgment too much to ask of whatever it was you had? Probably.

You groan and lay your head on the library table. Sam, sitting directly across from you with a lore book, was oblivious to your internal argument. He looks up now.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asks. You shake your head, not moving it from the table. “What’s up?” You can hear the laughter in his voice.

“What are we?” You ask. There’s a moments silence before Sam speaks again.

“Well – we’re hunters,” he says. You sit up and narrow your eyes at him. “What?” He asks, laughing again.

“Me and Dean. What are we?” You ask again. His laughter stops and confusion spreads across his face. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Are we friends with benefits?”

“Pretty sure you should be having this conversation with Dean,” he tells you, looking back at his book. You groan and lay your head down again. “Why is this suddenly bothering you?”

“Because I can’t decide if I have the right to be mad that he doesn’t remember we met a year ago today,” you admit. Sam starts to laugh again and you sit up quickly.

“He forgot your anniversary, huh?” He asks. You shush him quickly, looking over your shoulder. Dean had been in the garage most of the morning working on his car but he could come back at any moment. “Look, Y/N, I’ve never seen Dean like this with anyone. Ever. You mean more to him than I’m sure he’s said. But he isn’t used to the whole relationship thing. I’m sure he’ll come around though.”

“Hey, Sweetheart. Can you come down here?” You hear Dean call from the hall. You sigh as you stand and start down the corridor. Of course, you had been overreacting. You knew how much Dean cared for you, even if he never said it. And you didn’t need a day set aside for him to prove it more.

You stop short at the entrance to the garage and smile. Dean is leaning back against the hood of the Impala, his hands shoved down in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing your favorite of his flannel shirts, the one that makes his eyes pop a little more. It was the same one he’d been wearing the night you met.

You’d rolled into Lebanon, Kansas earlier that day, having found a case. It was an easy one. Open and shut. A vengeful spirit terrorizing a local family. You’d already worked out who it was and were just waiting for the cover of night to go salt and burn the body.

While you were waiting, you’d decided to hit a local bar. The one you picked looked like just the perfect mix of seedy and respectable. You’d been sitting at the bar for over an hour now, nursing your second bottle of beer, when someone slides onto the stool next to you. A blue and green checkered flannel hugs the muscles of the man’s forearms in all the right ways as he flags the barkeep for a beer. You shake your head quickly, having to remind yourself why you’re here in the first place.

You allow yourself one glance at him and immediately regret it. He’s looking back at you with piercing green eyes, already mentally undressing you. You look forward quickly and take a long drink of your beer before turning to face him. He angles his body towards you as well, smiling in the most irresistible way.

“Look,” you start, avoiding his eyes. “I’m only here for work. I’m really not looking for a drunken one night stand.” They weren’t the words you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him where you were staying for the night but you knew you had to stay focused on the job and if he went back to your motel room you’d never want to leave again. The man laughs and you look up at him now.

“Okay number one, I’m completely sober,” he says before taking a long drink from his bottle. You feel your face heat up when he runs his tongue over his lips. “And B, I’m not looking for a one night stand either.”

“No?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from his lips. He smirks slightly and shakes his head.

“I’d need at least a week with you,” he says. You can’t help the laugh the erupts from you. He smiles as he watches you. “What do you say?” He asks. Before you can answer, someone else is tapping on your shoulder. You turn to find another man.

Under normal circumstances, those circumstances being the man you were currently sitting next to not being there, he would have been a perfectly attractive man. However, your present company seemed to make every other man on the planet pale in comparison. The new suitor smiles at you, a smile that would no doubt be dazzling if you hadn’t already seen the other man’s.

“Care to dance?” He asks, nodding towards the empty space in the room where one couple was drunkenly swaying to some song in their head. You could give him a simple ‘no thank you’ but quickly decide that wouldn’t be any fun. Instead, you reach over next to you, placing your hand on the knee of the man beside you. You feel him twitch under your touch and fight not to smirk.

“Sorry. My boyfriend just got off work,” you tell him. Your ‘boyfriend’ waves at the other guy, a smirking playing at his lips. The man leaves you alone, quickly moving on to another girl in the room. A hand comes over yours and you look over at him.

“Can I at least know my girlfriend’s name?” He asks. You laugh and pull your hand out from under his.

“Y/N,” you tell him, picking your bottle back up. You feel his eyes on you as you take a drink. “Y/N Y/L/N. And you are?”

“Dean Winchester,” he says quickly.

“Babe?” Dean’s voice draws you from the memory. He’s standing in front of you now, a piece of cloth in his hands. You look at it then at him, raising an eyebrow.

“If this is a kinky thing, I’m not in the mood,” you tell him. He rolls his eyes.

“Will you trust me?” He asks. You smile a little and nod. He moves to stand behind you and carefully slips the cloth over your eyes. You sigh as he ties it in place. “Can you see anything?” He asks. You hear him moving back around you and can imagine he’s waving a hand in front of your face.

“Nothing. Dean, what’s this about?” You ask him. He chuckles and takes your hands in his, pulling on you. You take a couple of clumsy steps and hear the door of the Impala opening.

“It’s a surprise,” he says, guiding you carefully into the front seat of the car.

“You’re acting weird,” you tell him. You know he rolls his eyes again before closing the door. A moment later, the door on your other side opens and you feel Dean slide into the seat next to you. His hand comes to rest on your knee, the way it always does when you’re in the car together, before the car starts to move. His thumb rubs against your knee as he drives quietly.

“The Dean Winchester?” You ask, staring at the man next to you. He sits back slightly and nods. You’d heard plenty of stories about the Winchesters and all of their exploits. “I heard you were dead. Like – three different times.”

“Didn’t take. You’re a hunter?” He asks. You nod and look back at the bottle in your hands.

“Are you here for the case?” You ask. He sits back, shaking his head.

“No, actually we live just up the road,” he tells you. You look at him quickly.

“You live somewhere? Like…permanently?” You ask. He laughs lightly and nods, leaning forward onto the bar.

“Yea. Sammy and I have a place. It’s, ugh, an old bunker for a secret society that died out in the 50’s. It’s pretty awesome,” he says. You nod, mulling this over for a moment. “So what’s the case?” He asks, looking back at you now. You shrug and glance at the window.

“Vengeful spirit. Wanna go on a salt and burn with me?” You ask, smiling at him. You knew you could definitely use the muscle. It would take you all night to dig the grave up on your own. But with Dean’s help you could be done in a few hours and maybe even have time for a little something else. Dean smiles as he watches you, as though reading your mind and nods.

“My car’s parked out front,” he says. You smile widely and quickly finish off your beer. Dean tosses some cash onto the bar before rising to his feet and holding a hand out for you. You take his hand, your fingers interlocking, as he pulls you from the bar.

You feel the car come to a stop and cut off. The driver door opens then closes and a moment later your door opens. Dean’s hand takes yours and he carefully helps you from the car. You can smell the dirt and feel the soft earth under your feet.

“Dean, where are we??” You ask, sighing. He stops you by placing his hands on your shoulders from behind. He reaches up and pulls the blindfold off. You blink against the late evening sunlight and look around. It was a sight you knew well but you were very confused as to why you were here. “A cemetery? Are we working a case?” You ask, looking back at Dean. He rolls his eyes.

“Not just any cemetery,” he says, turning you to face the graves again. You sigh as you look around before breaking into a wide smile as it hits you.

“Our first date,” you say as his arms snake around your waist.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hole you and Dean had been working on for some time now. He’s shed a couple of layers, his jacket and flannel shirt, leaving himself only in the tight black t-shirt that clung to him with sweat. You bite your lip as you watch him move another shovel full of dirt out of the hole.

“Ya know, as much as I love that you’re checking me out right now, we could be done if you’d help,” he says suddenly, looking over at you. You blink then smile coyly and shrug.

“Well, you’ve been trying to show off this whole time I thought I’d finally let you,” you tell him. He stops and turns to face you, resting his arm on the standing shovel.

“It is working?” He asks with a smirk. You shake your head as you look him over. Pushing off the ground, you slide down into the grave and walk over to him.

“I mean, if I had a thing for the sexy, bad-boy hunter with a heart of gold, maybe,” you say. He throws his head back laughing and you suddenly realize you could spend the rest of your life watching him laugh. You quickly shake away those thoughts as you reach for the shovel. You dig into the dirt and hit something hard instantly. Looking back at Dean, you smirk, “Finished.” His eyes narrow and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you as you kneel down and wipe the dirt from the top of the coffin. With Dean’s help, you pry open the top half of the casket.

“Well, there she is,” he says, pointing to the old bones.

Dean climbs out of the hole then offers you a hand. You take his hand and allow him to pull you out as well. Your pour the salt over the remains as Dean dumps the gasoline in. You pull the box of matches from your back jean pocket and strike one on the side of the box before dropping the lit match into the open coffin.

“So,” Dean starts as the flames engulf the body. You look over at him. “You think I’m sexy.” You roll your eyes and grab two fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into a deep kiss quickly. His hands find your waist instantly as his lips move against yours. You pull away from his lips abruptly and take one of his hands in yours, pulling him away from the burning grave and back to the Impala parked a few yards away. “Are we leaving?” Dean asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice. You laugh lightly and open the back door before sliding in.

“You coming?” You ask, looking out at him when he doesn’t follow. He stares down at you in disbelief before shaking his head and getting in quickly, closing the door behind him. You move into his lap, straddling his waist as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Ya know, I’ve got a bed back at the bunker,” he says, his fingers grazing the skin at the edge of your shirt. You smile and lean in, kissing his lips briefly.

“We’ll get there eventually,” you tell him. He smirks slightly.

“Oh?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod, running your fingers against the back of his neck.

“Well, yea. You said you’d need at least a week with me, right?” You ask. He blinks and his smirk turns into a wide smile.

“I did say that,” he says, nodding. You smile and lean back in to him, pausing just before meeting his lips again. He chuckles and shakes his head. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday, Sweetheart.” You let out a laugh before kissing him.

Dean’s lips graze against your cheek gently and you smile, running your hands over his arms. He squeezes your waist slightly before turning you around to face him. You bite your lip and look down.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” you confess. He smiles before his lips find your forehead and you look back up at him.

“I remember everything about that night. I remember what you were wearing, what you were drinking. I remember the entire conversation on the way to the cemetery. I remember that first kiss and then you taking charge like you did. I remember taking you back to the bunker and staying up all night just talking. And the next morning, we made breakfast together and you met Sammy,” he says, his eyes soft as he watches you. You swallow hard, suddenly on the brink of tears. “And you stayed for a week.”

“And that week turned into two which turned into a month,” you say, laughing lightly. Dean smiles and his lips graze down the bridge of your nose.

“And a year later, here we are,” he says, his voice soft. You smile and close your eyes, standing there in his arms. His lips brush against your cheek before coming to rest next to your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. Your smile somehow manages to grow even wider as you lean away from him slightly. He’s watching you again, afraid he’s stepped too far. You stand up and press your lips against his in a soft, tender kiss. You feel him smile against your lips before you pull away.

“I love you too,” you tell him. He lets out a breath and you laugh lightly. “Did you think otherwise?” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You’re too good for me. It would make more sense if you didn’t,” he says. You roll your eyes at him before running your fingers into his hair.

“I moved in with you pretty much after one night together. I’m not going anywhere,” you assure him. He smiles and nods slightly.

“Well that’s good, cause I meant what I said a year ago,” he tells you. You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m gonna marry you someday.” You laugh again before pressing your lips against his, hoping it wouldn’t take him a year to get around to that too.

[userlando]

Reader w bestie lando feeling down bc he’s surrounded by more conventionally attractive girlies/people because of his profile and him listing all the positive qualities and things that he likes about them except he lets slip saying he LOVES it about them n getting all flustered stuttering and then confessing years of longing my HEART can’t handle this pls add ur thoughts vulnerable lan is my kryptonite

oh my god please 😭😭

reassurance (1492 words) best friend lando/fem!reader confessing feelings

please beware that this can have allusions/mentions of body dysmorphia, reader being insecure and self-conscious about how she looks. nothing too major, but it may trigger someone!

The both of you are standing by the kitchen counter, it’s late and Max is sleeping upstairs, oblivious to what’s going on outside his bedroom door. It had been a long night of drinking with half the grid and their respective partners, buying out a VIP section and ordering buckets of icy drinks.

It was at two a.m. that your social battery died out and so did Lando’s. You didn’t think a person could be so happy as he got when he glanced your way and caught you surreptitiously hiding a yawn behind your hand, asking if you were ready to head out. He’d only had one drink, so he drove the both of you back to his and Max’s place.

The kitchen had become your refuge, only one small lamp being the source of light as you got comfortable by the counter. Lando had, as suspected, sought out Max’s stash of snacks, ignoring your halfhearted protests because the last time he’d raided the pantry, his best friend had gotten so pissed that he’d locked it.

Normally, you would’ve joined him in the drunken snacking, giggling and carrying a stupid conversation that usually went in the direction of weird-ville, ending with ‘what type of worm would you be, if you could choose one?’

But tonight, you were staring dubiously at the bag of Walkers and packet of Hobnobs, all kinds of self-conscious thoughts swirling in your mind. You thought of earlier that night, when you’d trashed the dress you had in mind because it didn’t look right on you. You thought of how you’d gone for jeans, immediately regretting it when you arrived at the club and spotted the girls in short skirts and gorgeous dresses that looked like it was moulded for them. It was difficult to not feel some kind of way when everyone around you looked like they’d just stepped off the runway.

“You alright, peach?” Lando’s voice cut through your thoughts and you glanced up at him, hanging over the counter and chewing loudly on biscuits.

You grimaced at the nickname, one that you really hadn’t had many feelings about until recently. It had started as a joke, being photographed walking the paddock with Lando during an obscure weekend and Lando had giggled so hard that he turned red, almost losing consciousness as he read a tweet someone had posted about you.

ass so fat it looks like a peach

It had been funny, and Lando never really let it go. He’d started calling you peach ironically, until it stuck and replaced your name entirely.

But now you weren’t so sure about the positive aspects of the nickname.

Lando made a noise in his throat, swallowing dryly around the crumbs and reaching a hand out to poke your cheek. You twisted away slightly, blowing out a breath.

“Lando!”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He demanded, sounding much like a defiant child.

You gave him a look. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, I can see you pouting.”

“I’m not—“ You caught yourself before your blood pressure reached a new high. “Shut up.”

“Peach.” He said again and you looked down from his probing eyes, staring hard at the opened packet of Hobnobs that Max would for sure notice were missing.

“I just…” You trailed off, not knowing how to express your feelings without sounding so childish. What would you say? I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like an ogre next to your friends’ girlfriends. I hate the way I look. “I’ve been feeling a bit self-conscious lately, that’s all.”

Lando didn’t say anything and you looked up, thinking that he might’ve missed your words completely but he was staring at you softly, so gentle that emotions almost clogged your throat up. You scrunched your nose, and Lando let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding because he knew what that scrunch meant. He knew that was something that you automatically did when you were close to tears.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, and you couldn’t help but smile a little tearfully.

Leave it to Lando to never push, to always listen and never judge you when you were feeling every range of emotion. It always tugged at your heart. You truly loved him.

“I feel like a sack of potatoes when I see the girls.” You laughed wetly, reaching a hand up to wipe away at your eyes. Lando smiled when you unknowingly smeared your makeup. “They’re my friends and I don’t resent them for it, but it strikes me sometimes how we’re so different when it comes to looks.”

Lando frowned a little at that, placing a hand on top of yours. Palm against palm, pointer finger finding your pulse point on your wrist and resting it there. The way he always did.

“I like potatoes.” He murmured and you shot him a dry look. “But you’re right, you are different.”

That made you frown deeper, bottom lip sticking out in sadness and it broke Lando’s heart. He hurried to wipe under your eye with a thumb, smiling gently.

“You’re different because you’re my peach. You’re different in the way you treat people with so much kindness that it blows my mind sometimes. You’re different in the way you smile so hard that your eyes disappear, just like that.” You shielded your face behind your hand, letting out a laugh you couldn’t contain. “You treat me like me. Not like Lando, the driver. You shove me when I burp and you twist my arm when I tease you. And I love you for it. I love that you’re different, and I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.”

You blinked at him, slowly letting his words sink in.

“You love me?” You asked, aware that he might’ve meant it platonically but Lando’s reaction made you stop breathing for a second.

His cheeks turned pink, palms flattening on the surface of the counter to push himself up, like he was trying to put a little distance between you two. You’d only ever seen him act this way a handful of times, eyes wide and a little panicked, tips of his ears red as he opened his mouth and closed it. Like finding the right words was suddenly difficult.

“I mean— I just meant…” His voice died, shrugging a little helplessly the longer you stared at him.

Your heart was going a mile a minute, not believing what you were seeing but if Lando was fumbling his words and shrugging like he was hoping you’d let it go, he was dead wrong. You were gonna grip this opportunity with both hands and hold on.

“Look,” He pulled a face, blowing out a sharp breath of air through his mouth. “If I tell you something, will you hold it against me?”

Fuck. It was happening, wasn’t it?

“Perhaps.” You answered, voice almost inaudible because you were putting all of your excess energy into not passing the fuck out.

Lando rolled his eyes, looking a little trapped all of a sudden and you hurriedly rounded the corner, smiling at him when he took a small step back the closer you got to him.

He glanced at the counter like he considered walking around it, putting the distance back between you two but you quickly grabbed his arm, prompting him to look at you.

“How long?” You asked, soft and quite frankly, a little stunned.

“What?” He asked but his eyes said it all.

“Lando.”

“Stop.” He laughed, sounding breathless and a little frustrated. “Stop saying my name like that.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head when he turned his gaze away. He still hadn’t pulled out of your hold though, not even when you palmed his left pectoral. You didn’t know if it was wishful thinking or your imagination, but there was a steady thud against your palm that felt a lot like his racing heart and it made you smile.

“Like what?”

Lando sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, letting it go with a tsk.

“Like you love me.” He said quietly.

It was like someone had reached down your throat and grabbed your heart, squeezing the blood out and popping the vessels. You almost gasped for breath, smile stretching your lips and Lando’s expression went from cautious to slightly hopeful.

“What if I do love you?” You asked.

“Then…” He trailed off when your hand travelled from his pec to his cheek, cupping it. “Then I’d say I love you. I’d say that I’ve always loved you.”

You let out a laugh, like the absurd amount of happiness blooming in your chest was too hard to contain. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, getting on your toes to hug him properly.

“Took you long enough.” You murmured against his ear and Lando squirmed, pinching your side just to hear you squeak.

It was his favourite sound in the world.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

this isn’t beta read, I wrote this in my notes app at work so I hope it’s okay 🫣 it wasn’t smut this time (sorry) but I wanted to save the juicy stuff for longer fics hehe. I hope you enjoy this xx

[borderlinereminders]

I just finished helping with my best friend’s wedding. I spent two different days running around Vancouver area (which is a large city and something I find draining) in a rush. It was exhausting. It was emotional. It was overwhelming at times.

And that’s okay.

My personal share here is that sometimes, it’s normal to inconvenience ourselves and sacrifice for our relationships. I see a lot of posts worded in black and white ways telling us not to do things like that and it’s not that simple.

I faced my anxiety and gave a speech at her wedding because it was important to her. I was shaken even afterwards and it took me time to calm down.

I pushed myself to help her as much as I could even though I was running out of energy. I used spoons and borrowed from other areas of my life to temporarily help her.

I was exhausted interacting with a bunch of new people just to be present at her wedding for several hours and to get help in the preparations.

In each of these situations, I made the choice myself. I wasn’t pressured. It was very safe to say “no” to her. She would have been understanding and not at all upset with me. But I still made the choice to do these things. And it was all worth it. It was all worth it because I love her. And I am so beyond happy I pushed myself. I’m so happy I did it. And I’m so happy that she trusted me to help her. I’m at home now thinking about how happy I am for everything and how it turned out and no part of me regrets any of it.

We’re so often told not to sacrifice for others and that can be true in a lot of cases. But it is normal to give in relationships. It becomes a problem when it’s one-sided or we don’t respect our own boundaries.

She has sacrificed for me, too.

She drove me during a busy traffic time yesterday when she hates that because I was anxious and it helped me for her to bring me where I needed to go.

She’s taken a ferry and time off work to come see me and help me when I needed a ride from a minor surgery because she didn’t want me to have to rely on someone whose presence stressed me out and came with strings attached. (I never even asked her to do this one - I’d told her I had a ride but she knew the emotional consequences for me even though I hadn’t brought it up.)

She’s taken the time to do something for me even though her plate is full and she is overwhelmed because she knew I was so anxious about the thing that needed done.

And even if it hasn’t been easy sometimes, she has weighed the importance and decided that it meant more to her to help me and it was a decision that was hers to make. She made the choice to inconvenience herself. And I’ve done the same.

It is so normal to inconvenience yourself for your loved ones at times. But I also hope this serves as a reminder that it is okay that YOU inconvenience your loved ones sometimes. It’s their decision and if they want to help, then that’s okay and their choice.

Because as someone who was inconvenienced at several times during this week, I made the decision to do it and I am so happy I did. It was worth it to me. She was worth every bit of it and I’d do it all over again and more.

[goldenseresinretriever]

False Confidence: Chapter 5

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, panic attack, blood, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 7.5k

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one, I may have gotten a wee bit carried away, though

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You try not to make your displeasure obvious as you scowl at your reflection in the full-length mirror; fighting the urge to tug at the neckline of the black dress currently hugging every inch of your body. “This is too much, it has to be.” You complain and Josie gives you a sharp look from where she’s smoothing the bottom of the dress.

“Oh sweetie, if you think this is too much, they’re going to eat you alive.”

“They?”

“Javy’s little fan club,” she says, giving you a knowing look before grimacing. You match the gesture, trying once again to reconcile with your reflection in the mirror. You don’t look like yourself. That much is clear. Your hair is down and Josie’s pinned back sections in some style that she promises will flatter your face but you don’t quite see it. You fight another grimace as you glance at your chest. The dress is low cut, perhaps not enough to be truly risqué but you tend to favor higher, more modest necklines. Still, you’ve never had your breasts on display like this and it takes all your self-control not to cover your chest. You remind yourself that you’re not you tonight. Tonight you’re a pawn in a game, a commodity that’s being traded in exchange for keeping your job. You take a shaky breath as you glance at your painted face. It’s caked in makeup much thicker than you normally wear. Your lips are painted a sinful ruby red that makes you feel more dirty than beautiful. Your nails are painted to match and you grip your wrist tightly to keep from picking at the fresh paint.

“Hey,” you’re torn from your self-scrutiny by Josie and she’s looking at you, concerned. “Roadie, are you okay?” Her voice is a lot softer and you’re about to ask why she’s so concerned when you catch the sparkle of unshed tears in your eyes in the mirror. You swallow hard, willing them away before they ruin your makeup that Josie’s worked so hard on. You nod, not trusting your voice as you feel a lump form in your throat. “Hey, hey it’s okay,” Josie stands up then and pulls you into a hug. “I know it’s hard, sweetie, I know.” She rubs soothing circles into your back as you tremble in her arms before she speaks up, voice thick with regret. “I hate that you’re so unhappy. I’m so sorry I even suggested this.” You shake your head against her shoulder.

“I-it was my choice. You didn’t force me to do anything.” You take a shaking breath and hate how wet it feels as you feel a pressure in your nose as the tears rise unbidden to your eyes again. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep them in and picture your class. Your students that you love so much. This is for them. You can do this. “I can do this.” You say and while your voice still shakes you feel Josie squeeze you in solidarity.

She pulls back to look at you, a sad smile on her face. “Tell you what? Get through this and we’ll have a girls' night this weekend. Just stay in, hang out on the couch, and watch a movie in our pajamas.” You give her a weak smile at the thought of that. You’d do anything to be in your pajamas right now. You heave a sigh, avoiding your reflection in the mirror as you head for the door.

***

You regret everything. Sure, the dress makes you feel exposed. Sure, the makeup makes you feel cheap. But none of those are even close to the horror show that’s proving to be these heels. You wobble across the lobby of Javy’s apartment building, terror keeping you in its clutches as you stumble to the nearest chair. You dig your freshly manicured into the back, struggling to rearrange your ankles into an upright position.

“Roadie?” You look up from where you’re glaring holes into the back of the chair to see Javy staring at you with concern. You give him a lopsided smile as you do your best to right yourself. “You look beautiful,” he says and you feel your cheeks heat at the offhand compliment as you try to wipe your sweaty palms off on the dress that’s not an absorbent material at all. You straighten to the best of your ability and head towards him, shoes forgotten and the sudden movement combined with the deathtraps on your feet immediately throws you off balance and you stumble with a squeak of surprise. Warm hands wrap around your bare arms, righting you and you find yourself face to face with warm brown eyes as you instinctively brace your hands against Javy’s broad chest. Your lips are barely a breath away from his and his eyes are as wide as yours. You feel his body heat radiating off his skin and warming you to your very bones.

“Hi,” you breathe the words against his mouth and you’re not sure if you hallucinate the way his gaze flicks to your full red lips, parted in surprise.

“Hi,” he breathes back and you swallow, sucking in the air he’s released like it’s a lifeline, the only thing keeping you upright. You’re instantly aware of his hands on your arms and you stumble backward, his hands not moving an inch as you feel them strain against you as he carefully helps you balance on your heels. You glare down at the traitorous footwear and you hear Javy chuckle softly and it coaxes your gaze to his. He squeezes your arms in his grip gently, a playful smile on his lips even as his eyes betray his concern. “Meep, what on earth are you doing in those shoes?” You scowl at him even as your heart hammers against your ribs.

“Josie insisted on them,” you grumble before muttering under your breath, “even if I can’t walk five steps in them.”

“Does Josie have some vested interest in you spraining an ankle that I should know about?” He asks as he loosens his grip on you, hands still hovering above your skin in case he needs to intervene again. You realize then that your hands are fisted in the silky fabric of his dress shirt and you loosen them, cheeks heating as you tentatively release the material, shifting your weight back to your feet.

“Not that I know of, but I can ask,” you answer, rambling as you focus on staying upright. Your legs wobble like a baby deer and Javy regards you thoughtfully before he shifts, removing his hands from your arms before offering you one of his.

“Here, hold onto me, I’ll help keep you balanced.” You hesitate before linking your arm with his and he pulls you close, tucking you into his side and practically holding you up against him.

“Oh,” you whisper in surprise and he chuckles at your reaction.

“I’ve got you, Roadie.” He says and you’re surprised to find that you believe him. You let him lead you across the lobby and you find that your legs don’t shake nearly as much with him to support you.

When you get to the doors an attendant is waiting with a fancy sports car idling in the drive. Javy takes the keys from him and you try your best to ignore the way his gaze brazenly moves over you, his eyes feeling almost greasy in the way they linger on various parts of your body. You feel dirty and you haven’t even done anything. Nausea churns your stomach and you’re struggling to fight it down when Javy’s firm voice cuts through your thoughts. “Jonathan, if you don’t get your filthy eyes off my girlfriend, I know plenty of people that would kill for your job.” His voice is full of barely-concealed rage but it doesn’t frighten you. You feel gratitude fill your veins as Jonathan sputters, face going crimson as he averts his gaze, chagrined. He murmurs a half-hearted apology to Javy but Javy shakes his head. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to her.” He dips his chin towards you.

Jonathan’s face somehow manages to go even more red as he turns to face you, gaze darting everywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.” You’re too shaken to do more than nod in acknowledgment and then Javy’s leading you around to the passenger side of the sleek black sports car. He helps you in before going back around to the driver's seat.

The two of you fall silent as he pulls out of the driveway of the apartment building and you shift in the low seat of the sports car. Javy’s grip on the wheel is as firm as the line that his lips are pressed in. You’re rearranging the unfamiliar fabric of your dress when you unconsciously give into your earlier temptation to tug at the neckline of your dress, willing the fabric to magically stretch to cover the exposed skin at the top of your chest that makes your stomach twist in knots. When the car stops at a red light, Javy slides his suit jacket off and then tosses it gently into your lap and you blink at him, surprised. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road but you guess he feels the weight of your stare.

“You can cover up if you want to.” He explains and you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment. You take the jacket and fight the shame warring with your discomfort as you slide the jacket over your shoulders. It’s big, fair enough considering how broad Javy’s shoulders are but that’s lost on you as you’re suddenly enveloped by the heady scent of his cologne. The sharp, spicy notes cut through the musk and tickle your nose.

“Doesn’t this ruin the whole point of the dress?” You say after what you’re sure has been way too long as you come back to your senses.

Javy’s brow furrows, his fingers tightening on the wheel, angry at something you can’t see. “I would argue it sells the whole ruse even more. There’s nothing more intimate than my girl wearing my jacket.” You suppress the need to point out that you’re sure that there are plenty of things more intimate than that but you suppose he’s right and you do feel more comfortable now that you’re safely covered by the fabric.

***

Javy has half a mind to throttle Josie Fitch the next time he sees her. He sneaks a look at you when he stops at the next light. You seem content in the silence that stretches between the two of you and if he’s honest it’s the most relaxed that he’s seen you all day and he selfishly wants to let that last as long as possible. What was Josie thinking dressing you up like that? Sure, you look beautiful. He tries not to think too hard about the way you’d knocked the breath clear from his lungs when he first saw you in the lobby. There’s nothing indecent about the dress, it’s elegant and perfect for the restaurant he’s picked out for tonight. It hugs your curves perfectly, and he can’t help but feel his mouth go dry at the memory of the way the neckline accentuates your breasts, teasing him with just the skin at the tops and a peek at your cleavage. Your makeup just serves to underscore your natural beauty but the bold red lip is a little much.

None of that matters, though, when he can see how clearly uncomfortable you are. You look like an innocent lamb trussed up for slaughter. It makes rage run cold through his veins. The point of dressing up like this should be to bolster your confidence not tear it to shreds and his heart clenches as he sees you squirm, uncomfortable in your own skin. You’re naturally skittish and nervous but this is different. Even when you’ve picked at the hem of your blouses or dresses in the past it was more of a nervous tick, a side effect of being forced to exist. This is different. What was Josie thinking, suggesting this? He manages to fight down his anger, not wanting it to seep into his words for you to misconstrue before he speaks.

“Roadie,” he says, choosing his words carefully, and out of the corner of his eye he sees you turn to him. “I think you should get some new dresses. Some that YOU’RE comfortable in.” He chances a glance at you and you're staring at him, perfect lips parted in soft surprise that matches your wide eyes. He fights the urge to smile. It’s his favorite look on you and it makes him want to pull the car over and kiss it off you. The car behind him honks, jolting him back to the present and he collects his thoughts. “Nat could go with you if you want? She’s been hounding me about getting to spend some time with you. I promise you she’s not pushy.” You’re silent for a moment before you finally speak up.

“That would be nice,” he hears you hesitate and waits patiently for you to continue. “Are you sure it’s okay?” He’s about to ask you to clarify but you continue. “I mean aren’t I supposed to dress a certain way?” He feels his stomach twist with rage and disgust.

“Meep, you never have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.” He fights to keep his voice even. “You’re my fake girlfriend, not a doll.”

***

You wonder if you’re imagining the way Javy is vehemently defending your sense of comfort. All that disappears, though, when the words “fake girlfriend” pass his lips. It’s like he’s doused you with a bucket of ice water. You stiffen as you remember why you’re really here. Javy sweetness mixed with the headiness from being ensconced in his jacket and scent almost had you forgetting that this is just an elaborate act. When you get to the restaurant there’ll be a crowd of reporters that Zam sent anonymous tips, waiting to capture exclusive photos of you and Javy. You’re just here to play a part. You have to smile, pretend to hide from the cameras, and seem absolutely completely in love with Javy Machado. All in a good night’s work, right?

You realize that Javy’s waiting for you to answer but the moment is broken and you’re back down in reality. You heave a heavy sigh. “As nice as that is, I can’t exactly afford to get a whole new wardrobe right now, especially the kind of clothes I need for these sorts of events.” You’re on a teacher’s salary after all, and you spend any extra money on your art.

Javy doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s fair, I’ll pay for them.” Your jaw drops and your eyes bug out of your head. “Call it a part of the agreement. It’s not your fault that your demands don’t come with a dress code so I’ll take care of the clothes and whatever else you need. I’ll give Nat my credit card.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you stammer, still wrapping your head around his cavalier attitude towards this whole situation.

“You didn’t. I offered.”

“Well, I don’t accept!” You squawk indignantly.

“I wasn’t asking, Beautiful.” Your argument is cut short as Javy pulls up to the valet booth of the restaurant and you glance out the window at the soft mood lighting glinting out the windows of the impressive-looking building.

He folds himself out of the car that’s honestly too small for a hockey player but you have a feeling size didn’t factor much into the purchasing decision. Your door clicks open and Javy holds out his hand to you. You make sure to swing your legs out first and plant them firmly before you give Javy your hand and let him pull you to your feet. He links your arm in his immediately, steadying you as he guides you around the car. His body is shielding yours at first so you don’t notice them but then the flashing of lenses almost blinds you as the press that’s been camped waiting for the two of you start to cross the small space to the door of the restaurant. You curl instinctively away from the cameras and into Javy and he just pulls you close. You almost miss the quick tap of his fingers against your wrist before he presses his lips to the top of your head. You feel warmth spread through your body from the point of contact and you suppress a shudder.

Javy doesn’t seem keen on pandering to the press beyond your presence and the chaste kiss and he ushers you through the door of the restaurant. The inside is warm and elegant and you’re suddenly glad that you’re dressed like you are. The hostess guides the two of you across the dining room and Javy politely asks that she not seat the two of you by any windows and you feel a rush of gratitude at his thoughtfulness even if it feels counterproductive to the goal of the night. Javy pulls out your chair for you and you take a seat, pulling Javy’s jacket tighter around your shoulders in the cool air of the restaurant. You busy yourself with the money to distract from the nerves gnawing at your stomach.

“It’s just dinner.” You look up when Javy speaks up. He’s gazing at you over the top of his menu. “Just think about it that way. It’s just dinner. I’m not asking you to sit in my lap and feed me chocolate cake. We’re just two people getting dinner.” Despite your skepticism, you can feel Javy’s voice somehow easing your anxiety. “Oh but I do have one request," he says and you flick your eyes back up to his, a question hidden in them and he gives you a firm look. “Order whatever you want. There’s no one in here that you have to prove anything to.” You feel your cheeks heat and you’re saved from having to answer by a waitress coming to take your drink order. Javy greets her before turning back to you. “What kind of wine do you like? Or do you prefer cocktails?”

You squirm uncomfortably as you ponder the words you need to say. Glancing at the prices on the drink menu solidifies your resolve, however. “I, uh, I don’t drink.” You murmur, not taking your eyes off Javy as you manage to get the words out. To his credit, Javy just nods before ordering water for both of you. “You didn’t have to do that,” you blurt once the waitress has made her way back to the kitchen. “I don’t mind if you drink, you don’t have to have water for my sake.” Javy just arches an eyebrow at you as he arranges his napkin in his lap.

“Meep, I’m driving. I wasn’t planning to drink.” You feel your cheeks heat.

“Oh, right.” You stammer lamely and he gives you a soft smile.

“But thanks for letting me know you don’t drink.” He says and you cock your head to the side, confused. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally make you uncomfortable by ordering you something you’re not going to be comfortable drinking.”

“Well that and it definitely saves money.” You remark before your cheeks heat more as you realize the man across from you is in a completely different tax bracket than you. “Sorry, I just, uh, I forgot.”

Javy gives you a casual shrug. “I wasn’t born into this, Beautiful, believe it or not, I do remember what money means.”

“Oh,” you stammer, embarrassed all over again.

“After my first year in the NHL, I bought my mom a new house,” he says and the smile on his face is wistful and you can see he’s lost in the memory. “She gave up a lot for me to be able to play hockey. It’s an expensive sport that we didn’t necessarily have the money to be able to afford, but she found a way to make it work. I wanted to be able to thank her for that. It’s not always the case with sports, you know? That the investment pays off. I just got lucky enough that I got to go from being the most expensive kid in my family to being the one who can take care of everyone else. It feels good, like it wasn’t all for nothing, you know?” You nod along, content to listen to Javy talk. Everything he’s saying feels genuine and you can’t help the curiosity that tickles your brain.

“You said you’re from Louisiana, right?” Javy nods. “How’d you start playing hockey then?” He chuckles at that.

“Hockey’s not the most welcome sport in Louisiana, that’s true. There’s only one minor league that’s still holding on these days, but back when I was growing up there were a few and my uncle took me and my sisters to a game once when we visited him for the weekend. I fell in love with the sport instantly, much to my mom’s disappointment. My uncle, though, saw how excited I was about it so he started to take me to the mall to skate and then he found local rinks that had open skates, and he kept taking me to games. He would go to the library and read books and watch old games to try to figure out how he could train me without having to pay for lessons. I guess it worked because then he helped my mom get me into a tryout for some fancy middle school that had a hockey team and I got in on a hockey scholarship. Once I had my foot in the door I didn’t want to lose my chance. Thankfully I was able to use gear provided by the school for a while but once I got to high school I got odd jobs so I could afford the gear I needed to play. All the other guys on my team all had second rec leagues that they played for outside school on top of the school teams but that’s all I had so I put all my effort in there, hoping I’d get scouted to play in college. I got a scouting offer from the University of Arizona my senior year of high school and ended up going there on a full-ride and now I’m here.” He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without my mom and uncle. I’ll always be thankful for what they did for me.”

“You’re still close with them, then?” You ask and his expression clouds. “My uncle passed away from cancer when I was in college. He never married, never had kids of his own.”

“Javy, I'm so sorry.” You swallow hard, but you’re interrupted by the waitress coming back to take your orders. You take a long sip of your water while Javy orders before you order without looking at the menu. You’d been committing it to memory all afternoon since Javy texted you the name and you immediately checked out the menu online. Once the waitress retreats again you speak. “Do you miss him?” You ask tentatively.

He nods. “He was the closest thing I had to a dad. Mine was never in the picture. Neither my mom nor my uncle ever talked about him either so I just stopped asking. Plus, I had my uncle and that was enough. I just wish he’d been able to see me make it, you know? I would have loved to have him there at the draft and then at my first NHL game. He gives you a wistful smile as he sips his water. But I’m still close with my mom and my sisters, so I’m grateful to have that.” You nod in understanding.

“Do they live here or are they back in Louisiana?”

“They’re back in New Orleans, but I try to get back home to them in the off-season and they come to visit sometimes during the season. Sometimes they’ll come to the away games in Dallas with Jake’s folks.

“You and Jake are close, right? I saw the photo of you guys in college.” You clarify. Javy’s face lights up and it makes you pause and you watch the joy and fondness fill his eyes.

“He’s my best friend,” Javy says with a laugh. “We were teammates and roommates in college. He’s basically my brother at this point.”

“Have you been on the same teams since then?” You ask and Javy shakes his head, a melancholy smile twisting his lips.

“We were at first, we both got drafted to the Coyotes and everything was perfect. Sure it's nerve-wracking to finally be in the NHL and playing at a professional level but it never felt that way with Jake there. It felt like we were still in college like nothing had changed at all, and that was good for our game, you know? We played like it was natural because it really felt like it was. Jake’s always been the star, though,” you see sadness creep into his eyes and your heart aches in response. “He was improving at an insane rate, and people could tell. Jake’s a natural leader, though, and he was always trying to pull me up to his level. It’s what makes him such a good captain. And then he outgrew us, and got traded to Dallas.” Javy shakes his head. “I never blamed him for taking his shot. Professional hockey takes a lot out of you and without a good support system it can crush you if you’re not careful. Jake got the chance to go home, or as close as he could get to it, and man if I could have a chance like that I probably would have gone too.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.” You say and he turns to you like he’s just remembered you’re there.

“It doesn’t,” he says, trailing off. It’s quiet between the two of you for a long moment before he speaks again. “Eventually I got traded to, and I went to San Jose and it wasn’t terrible. I dragged Nat out to California with me and we had our fun. But when I got the offer to come to San Diego, to start something new, it felt like it was time to go.”

“And you’d get to play with Jake again,” you pipe up and Javy laughs before shaking his head.

“I had no idea Jake was coming to San Diego when I signed the contract.” You blink, surprised. Your brow furrows in confusion.

“So Jake followed you?” Javy has a sad look in his eyes as he shakes his head again.

“Not quite that either.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I forgot.” Your brow furrows in confusion. “That you don’t know everything.” He clarifies. “Most of it is public knowledge at this point so I just assume everyone knows already.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying again to smooth your sweaty palms over the nonabsorbent fabric of your dress and then settling for playing with your fingers.

“No, no you don’t have to apologize.” He waves you off with a firm shake of his head. “It’s nice, not having someone know every single thing about me before I tell them. I think I forgot what that’s like.”

“Oh,” you feel your cheeks heat as the waitress arrives with your food.

***

Dinner passes without incident and you slowly feel yourself getting used to Javy. He seems to be content doing most of the talking and you’re content to listen. The food is delicious and about halfway through the meal a jazz band strikes up some soft music providing a cozy backdrop. You notice Javy tapping his toes under the table. “Do you like jazz?” You ask.

“Beautiful, I’m from New Orleans, I LOVE jazz. More than love, it’s in my blood, mon amour.” You flush under the terms of endearment that normally you’d blame on alcohol except for the fact that Javy’s continued to join you by drinking water all night.

“I didn’t want to assume,” you whisper and he smiles, widely.

“Well, you assumed correctly. Come. Dance with me, Beautiful.” Javy extends his hand to you and your eyes go wide like a deer in the headlights.

“I-I can’t,” you stammer and Javy shakes his head, insistent. “Javy there’s no one else dancing,” you insist, glancing around the room at the other groups dining around you. Sure there’s a small space in front of the band that could serve as a dance floor if necessary but no one seems keen on utilizing it.

“Come on, Beautiful. Dance with me.” Javy says again, standing from the table and your eyes widen in terror.

“I told you, Javy, I can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t in these shoes.”

“So take them off,” you give him a look of pure horror.

“Javy, PLEASE. Please don’t make me.” You beg, terror gripping your nerves and you see something you can’t identify pass across Javy’s face before he nods and stands up straight.

“I’ll let you off the hook tonight, Beautiful, but I’ll get you to dance with me yet.” With that, he turns away from the table and your heart sinks in fear. Is he leaving? Without you? Certainly not, he hasn’t paid the bill yet. You reach out without thinking but Javy’s already moving across the room over to where the band is playing. You see him lean over to speak with them before he slips one of the microphones arranged around the musicians out of its stand and moves into the center of the would-be dance floor as the band starts playing again.

“I'm just a gigolo. Everywhere I go, people know the part I'm playing.” Javy begins to croon into the microphone and you notice a few patrons look up from their dinner as your face flushes even hotter. He’s not a bad singer, rough and unrefined but it suits the light jazz tune. “Paid for every dance, selling each romance. Oh, what they're saying. There will come day when youth will pass away. What will they say about me? When the end comes I know, they'll say just a gigolo. Life goes on without me.”

Your face heats as you process the words he’s singing. His expression is part sultry and part fun as he delivers the words.

After he repeats the verse he’s just sung the tune starts to pick up. “'Cause I ain't got nobody. Nobody cares for me. 'Cause nobody cares for me. I'm so sad and lonely. Sad and lonely, sad and lonely. Won't some sweet mama come and take a chance with me? 'Cause I ain't so bad.” He scats slightly as he sings and you can’t help the way your lips part slightly in surprised admiration. He reaches a hand in your direction, urging you to join him as the music transitions into a more instrumental section. The jazz is in full swing now and you feel the music as well as Javy calling to you in a way you’ve never experienced before. The sad lyrics contrasted with the upbeat tune fill your heart with a familiar melancholy that’s usually reserved for quiet nights alone spent working on your art and you think maybe that’s what makes you stand on wobbly feet and carefully make your way to where Javy’s swaying with the microphone and crooning and scatting into it. His eyes light up when he sees you coming and makes sure to meet you at the edge of the dance floor before gently taking your weight off your unsteady feet as he eases you into his arms.

He’s ditched the microphone at some point and a member of the band has taken up the vocals but he croons the words into your ear as he gently sways with you. He makes sure to keep the steps simple enough for you to keep up in your heels. Suddenly you’re at your senior prom all over again, in Andrew’s arms instead of Javy’s and then you’re tripping over your feet as your daydream bursts and you're grabbing at Javy’s silky shirt for purchase as his arms shift to keep you from falling.

“Easy, Meep, you okay?” He says and you see him searching your face. You nod, not trusting your voice until you clear your throat.

“I think I’m all danced out.” You whisper and he nods, gently guiding you back to the table where a giant slice of chocolate cake is waiting for the two of you.

“Here, Meep, eat some cake.” He says as he pulls out your chair for you. You nod absently, and while on any other day, you’d probably have loved the decadent desert but it tastes like dirt in your mouth as try to finish it quickly. “Meep, are you okay?” You don’t answer as you try not to empty your entire water glass in one go. “Roadie,” Javy says, reaching a hand out to touch your arm but you flinch away from the touch and he instantly pulls away, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m sorry, I just. I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m ready to go home.” You whisper, head down and eyes focussed on your worrying hands.

“Okay. Okay, let’s get you home then.” You hear Javy flag down the waitress and pay the bill before he’s gently pulling your chair out and helping you to your feet, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders. “Meep,” he whispers to you as the two of you make your way to the door. “There’s going to be paparazzi outside, I’ll do the best to get us through there as fast as possible but I want you to have a heads up. I’m going to kiss you so they can get their shot and get out of our way, okay?” You nod, numbly, struggling considerably to plaster what you hope is an amorous smile on your face.

Javy doesn’t look convinced but he tucks you into his side nonetheless. Even Javy’s warning doesn’t fully prepare you for the onslaught of flashing lights when you exit the restaurant and you curl into Javy and he pulls you closer in response. He guides you to the car that’s been pulled up and he opens the door, tapping your wrist three times quickly before he kisses you. You’re still not entirely used to the feeling of kissing him but the door bumps your leg and you stumble. You throw your arms around Javy’s neck to catch yourself accidentally deepening the kiss and Javy slides a warm hand to hold your back against him before he pulls away, a concerned look in his eyes as he helps you fold yourself into the cramped interior of the car.

You tug Javy’s jacket further around you as you wait for Javy to come around to the driver’s side, trying to fold into yourself but as you tug the fabric closer, the scent of his cologne floods your nose, but this time it feels like a smokey snake, forcing itself down your throat and choking you. You shove it away, pushing the fabric down your shoulders as the night air chills your skin, urging you to pull the jacket back up. Instead, you wrap your arms around yourself as Javy opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat. Your eyes are locked on the console in front of you as you will the drive to be over as you hear the rumble of the engine coming to life.

“Meep?” You hear Javy calling out to you, concern in his voice as he pulls away from the restaurant. You don’t answer as you climb deeper into yourself. “Roadie?” His voice calls again but it sounds farther away this time. You still don’t answer, tugging on your arms, trying to get smaller and smaller as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to escape the moving car. You don’t realize the car has stopped until you feel the hands on your arms. Javy’s calling your name but you don’t answer. He must lean closer because your throat is once again violated by the scent of his cologne and you’re moving on instinct as you shove him away. You’re moving like you’re fighting through water as you shove at the seatbelt and fumble with the door to the car as you struggle to get out.

As the night air whips your hair around, you stumble, colliding with a cement partition. The salty air is like a shock to your system and your eyes shoot open as you come face to face with the blackness of the ocean. Your hands shoot forward to grab the partition before you can topple over it and you sink to the asphalt as the adrenaline leaves your body like it's been punched out alongside your breath. You don’t register Javy calling for you until he’s crouched in front of you, your terror reflected in his eyes, his hands shaking in time with yours as they cup your cheeks, searching your face. The world comes back into focus and you hear the rush of cars mere feet away on the highway as you realize Javy’s parked on the shoulder.

“Hey, hey, Roadie you okay?” Javy’s voice is shaking along with the rest of him. You nod, or at least you try to. Before you can stop him, he’s pulling you against him and you can feel the thunder of his heart through your chests pressed together. He releases you as quickly as he hugs you like it’s the product of an instinct he couldn’t suppress and then he’s taking more measured yet still shaky breaths.

“Javy?” you don’t recognize the voice that comes out of your mouth. He looks up and his deep brown eyes bore into you with a kind of cautious curiosity. “Can you take me home, please?” That seems to sober him up and he stands, offering you a hand to pull you up after him. You take it after pausing to fumble with your outfit for a moment. When you stand on your feet, you feel more stable than you have all night. Javy starts to lead you back to the car but you pause, turning back to the roiling ocean behind you and you toss the heels over the edge of the partition. The asphalt is rough under your feet but you feel grounded.

***

Javy can’t help the pride that slips onto his face as he watches you toss Josie Fitch’s overpriced deathtraps over the edge of the highway, down into the ocean below. His heart stopped when you’d practically dashed out of the parked car but from the terror he’d just seen in your eyes it seemed like maybe even you hadn’t been aware of your actions. Something in the restaurant had set you off, he just can’t figure out what. You’d been alright since you’d gotten settled there, you’d even worked up the courage to dance with him, and then just as quickly as it had come, some kind of invisible wall had gone up in your eyes and you’d shut him out.

He knows he shouldn’t care but he wants to know why. More than he’s wanted to know anything in his life before. He carefully leads you back to the car, worrying about your bare feet on this disgusting stretch of shoulder but you don’t seem concerned. You seem to have come back to yourself but you’re silent as he helps you fold yourself back into the car before he crouches down beside you. You give him a puzzled look as he holds out a hand to you so he reaches gently out for your feet. You start in surprise when his fingers brush your bare ankle but don’t pull away so he wraps his fingers around the soft skin and gently eases your foot into his grip. He examines the bottom, looking for any sort of injury, sweeping at the dusty skin, brushing aside dirt and small pebbles of asphalt clinging to your skin. Your first foot seems fine so he moves on to the other one. His lips pinch into a thin line as he reveals the underside and his eyes catch on a tiny piece of glass stuck in your skin. “Shit,” he mutters and you shift above him.

“What?” He hates how weak and scared your voice sounds.

“Easy, Beautiful, stay still for me for a second?” He looks up in time to see you nod. He shifts to reach for the glove compartment, popping it open. He pulls out a leather case and a pair of socks. Jake’s always so insistent on impromptu bowling outings that he keeps an extra pair of socks in all three of his cars. The leather case is from Nat’s insistence on being prepared for emergencies and for the first time he’s glad for her insistence as he unzips it. He takes out the first aid kid, first ripping open an alcohol swab and cleaning the area around the glass before he pinches it between his fingers and tugs it free. Your foot twitches as he hears the hiss of your breath. He tosses the offending shard somewhere behind him as he looks up just in time to see your teeth digging into the plump skin of your lower lip and liquid dancing at your lash line as your eyes meet his. “This will sting for just a second, okay?” He asks and you nod as he rips open another swab and swipes over the cut that’s starting to dribble blood. You hiss again and then he’s putting a bandaid over the cut. He rubs the top of your foot gently. “There we go, Meep, all done.” He reaches for the socks then, and gently eases one over each of your bare feet. Their slightly too big but it’s endearing. He stands then, wiping his hands on his pants. “Let’s get you home, Meep.” You nod silently.

***

Your foot throbs slightly in the background of your mind as you lean your head against the window. Javy’s socks are too big and a little scratchy but you don’t mind. You know throwing your shoes was stupid but Javy hasn’t said anything about it. You’re exhausted from the panic attack and the adrenaline of almost taking the tumble off the side of the road. You just want to be home. You don’t notice that you’ve drifted off until Javy’s gently shaking your shoulder to let you know that you’re here. But when you blink awake blearily you realize you aren’t at Javy’s apartment where you parked your car but instead, you’re in front of your apartment building. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you’re suddenly very aware of the stark difference between your dumpy suburban complex and Javy’s sleek luxury apartment building.

“I texted Josie and asked for your address and she said she’d pick you up tomorrow morning and drop you off at my place to pick up your car tomorrow,” Javy explains and you nod numbly.

“Thanks,” the word falls lamely off your lips. Javy climbs out of the car and comes around to help you out on your side. You give him an awkward tight-lipped smile as you fumble in the tiny clutch Josie lent you for your keys. “I’ve got it from here,” you assure him as you start to step away from him towards your building. The idea of Javy seeing your apartment right now is mortifying.

“Beautiful, if you think I’m not walking you to your door, you have another thing coming.” You’re exhausted so maybe that’s why your walls fall away as your brow tightens in irritation.

“I said I’m fine.” You frown slightly at him and he just crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re hurt, you’re actively limping,” you glance down to see where your posture has shifted instinctively to favor your uninjured foot, “and it’s late. I’m walking you to your door. Either you can let me help or I can carry you, your choice.”

Your jaw drops at his brazen threat. “You don’t know what unit I live in.” You cross your arms across your chest and tilt your chin out, letting your anxiety and exhaustion channel into stubbornness.

“I’ll take that bet,” Javy says, grinning lazily at you. “Come on, Meep, let’s just go.”

“Fine,” you mutter and lead the way to your door, refusing Javy’s offer of a hand to steady you, favoring the railing of the stairs as you climb up to your floor. When you reach your door, you make sure to unlock it in front of Javy before you turn to him. “Goodnight, Javy. I’ll see you on Tuesday.” He nods, accepting your clear lack of an invitation to come in.

“See you, Roadie.” You watch him walk back down the hallway towards the stairs before you duck inside and lock the door behind you.

A/N: That was a LOADED chapter, but octopus soup day is up next!!! The song Javy sang was Just a Gigolo/ I Ain’t Got Nobody by Louis Prima, I was thinking about it one day and thought it would be a hilarious addition to the fic.

[brokenjere]

bad in the bones (c.f) (part 9)

a/n: hey all!! I’m super excited to have this next part out. I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything but I have been working on a lot of things outside of this platform that I hope to share with you all at some point. Please let me know what you think!! I miss talking to you all <3

It was fun seeing Conrad in secret. There were stolen kisses in the backyard when no one was around and knocks on the wall that separated us that always seemed to come when I couldn’t sleep. He could read my mind, I think. Always hearing me think about him. I’d sneak out my room and tap on his door and he opened it so quickly it was like his hand was on the doorknob waiting for me. 

He’d grab my hand and lock the door behind me and sometimes, I’d wake up with the birds chirping the next morning and have to sneak back to my room but sometimes we stayed awake as long as possible like we needed to savor every second of this. One night, I laid on my back starring up at his ceiling and he strummed on his guitar almost too quietly and I leaned over on my side, propped myself up on my elbow and Conrad was already staring at me. “What?” He whispered with a smile. 

“Stop,” I told him. His hands ceased to play and he moved the guitar off of his lap. He put his palms down on the bed on either side of me and crawled on top of my body, forcing me down onto my back again. His eyes were too brown, his hair too floppy, and his smile so perfect I couldn’t stand it any longer so I kissed him. 

My fingers found the hair on the back of his neck and he leaned into me, pressing his hips against mine. Sometimes things got steamy like this: our bodies pressed too firmly together until we were just a pile of sweat, saliva, and heavy breathing. I’ve stopped him every time not because I didn’t want to but because I haven’t had sex with anyone except for Josh and the idea of that happening was almost too much for me to think about. Especially in moments like this were I was too flustered to think straight. I stopped him every time except for last night. 

Tonight, I let his hands linger under my shirt for a little longer than normal and when he looked up at me to make sure I was okay, where I usually shake my head no, I nodded my head yes. Our clothes were off and our bodies were sweaty and everything was quiet except for his breathing in my ear. 

I laid next to him with his blanket wrapped around my naked body and I didn’t speak until he turned his head to look at me. “Are you okay?” He sounded guilty and that made me feel guilty and I nodded my head. It was the truth. I was okay. “Do you regret that?” He asked again and this time I shook my head. I didn’t. 

“Did you know people burn 3 and a half calories a minute on average during sex?” I asked, looking over at him. His cheeks were flushed and he smiled and then he kissed me. I leaned into him and kissed him back. “I should go back to my room,” I whispered against his lips. He nodded in agreement and then I got dressed and returned to my room. 

I didn’t sleep at all which is probably directly related to the bags under my eyes that Laurel is packing concealer on right now. “I never noticed how bad they were,” she whispered as she applied more. 

“It doesn’t need to be perfect,” I mumble to her. She gives me a look and I don’t look at her. “I don’t even want to go to this, you know that.”

“Yea, well, Belly is really excited so why don’t you just be happy for her?” 

“I am happy for her,” I lie. Laurel doesn’t reply, just adds blush to my cheeks. “Just don’t make her wear a fascinator, okay?” I look at her through my lashes and she smiles at my joke and the air in the room relaxes. 

“She’s not wearing a fascinator,” she assures me. I nod and Laurel fluffs out my hair. “It’s time to go.” 

Seeing Conrad in a suit is more shocking than I anticipated. I’m so used to his disheveled, salt-air hair and swim trunks that seeing him all put together is making me feel things I wasn’t prepared for. He eyes me from the steps of the country club, careful not to look for too long but I smile and wave at him as we walk up. 

Susannah is on Conrad’s arm and she smiles as Laurel and I approach. “There you guys are!” She exclaims like she has been waiting for us forever. She arrived earlier with Belly to help set up. “You look beautiful,” she tells me as I approach, squeezing my arm gently. 

“Look at us,” she says, looking at all of us standing together. She pauses and her eyes begin to water. “It’s perfect.”

“Mom, you’re not going to cry, are you?” Jeremiah asks from next to me. He and Steven have their suits hauled over their shoulders, waiting to go inside and finish getting ready. 

“What and ruin my makeup? No way,” she says and gives her son a smile. “Everything is going to be different next year. Conrad’s going off to college,” she says, bumping her shoulder into Conrad. He gives her a shy grin. “It might be the last summer we’re all together.” The group gets quiet for a moment. It feels like no one is breathing.

“Just don’t forget, I get to dance with you tonight,” Jeremiah says, breaking the tension like he doesn’t know it’s there but I swear I can see Conrad’s muscles tighten. 

Jeremiah hands his suit to Steven as he grabs Susannah’s hand, twirling her around and dipping her like I’m sure he has practiced many times over this last summer. When he returns her upright, her hand goes to her head and she stumbles, losing her footing. “Mom, are you okay?” Jeremiah asks, steadying her. We all reach out for her like she could break at any moment but Conrad grabs her elbow first, putting her back on his arm. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve danced, I must be out of practice,” she says, waving it off and wrapping her arm back around Conrad’s. 

“We should go inside,” he suggests. Susannah nods and he leads her inside. The rest of us hesitate for a moment but then we all follow Laurel’s lead and head inside too. When we reach our table, Conrad helps Susannah into her seat and then pulls out one with my name on the placemat. “For you,” he whispers quietly, giving me a look only I can decipher. I slide into my seat and as he pushes me in, he leans forward. I can feel his breath on my ear. “You look perfect.” 

Before I can reply, he’s sliding into the seat next to mine. Conrad’s hand finds my thigh under the table. We’re touching but it’s a secret, just the way I like it. We’re sitting around a decorated table - a pretty candle burning right in the center of our perfect china plates. They’re almost too pretty to put food on, but there’s a caterer walking around offering people appetizers and we can’t help but take some.

When the announcements start, we wait for Belly’s. Girl after girl descend down the steps in fluffy white dresses and tiaras on their head with men on their arms. I see her poking her head out from behind the curtian. I can tell she’s nervous even from over here. “Isabelle Conklin. Daughter of John Conklin and Laurel Park,” she starts as Belly and Jeremiah meet in the center of the stage and descend down the stairs. I can’t help but notice how her eyes find Conrad’s, despite having his brother on her arm. I look over at Conrad and he’s focused but I can’t tell on who. They bow and present themselves to our table. Laurel gives Belly a thumbs up and I look down at my lap. 

Conrad’s hand is still on my thigh and he squeezes it. I look up at him and he’s looking at me with furrowed brows. He mouths the words what’s wrong and I shake my head. He holds his hand out palm up and I put mine in it gratefully. Belly and Jeremiah present themselves in front of our table. Belly does a curtsey and Jeremiah bows and they’re both smiling way too big but I give her a thumbs up because she is beautiful. She’s not looking at me, though, she’s looking at Conrad and it makes my chest tighten. I had spent the last few days hiding, avoiding Belly at all costs because I can’t look her in the eyes anymore. Not when all I can think about is Conrad’s voice in my ears, his hands on my skin, and his lips on mine. She sits down next to me for breakfast and all I can think about is if his cologne is still lingering on my clothes from the night before and even as she’s chatting and laughing over her cereal bowl, I’m watching the doorway for him. Even right now, as she stares at him, my hand squeezes a little bit tighter on his and I feel guilty.  

I turn to him and whisper in his ear, not caring who is watching and say, “can we get out of here?” I pull back to watch for his reaction and he nods. When all the debs are dismissed, I slide out of my chair excusing myself from the table. The hallway is all too quiet compared to the ballroom and I lean against the bathroom door and wait for him. The door creaks open and when I finally see him, it’s like I can breathe again. “You’re going to get us in trouble if we skip this thing, you know,” he laughs as his hands grab my waist and pull me to him. I wrap my arms around his neck and shrug, kissing his cheek. 

“The classical music is rotting my brain,” I tease. 

“Didn’t you used to play classical music?” He asks. I move my fingers, tapping my fingertips against his back as if I’m playing the piano. 

“Rotted my brain then, too.” When Conrad smiles, I think my heart stops and I kiss him. He presses his body closer to mine, pressing my back against the door. I pull away from him, kissing his cheek once more. “Want to go outside? By the pool?” 

“We really shouldn’t miss any more of this,” he says. I can feel his heart beating in his chest and his resistance despite the certainty in his voice. “This really means a lot to my mom.” 

“You did it last year, right? It’s Jeremiah’s turn, she won’t even notice.” I push against him, making his grip on me tighter and his smile gets a little bigger as he considers it. “Come on,” I beg, fluttering my lashes at him for just a moment before his lips crash against mine and my feet are off the ground. 

Conrad carries me down the rest of the hall and out the door to the pool. It’s dark out, the only lights are reflecting on the pool but it’s quiet. Conrad lays me down on the lounge chair, making sure my dress doesn’t drag on the ground and he props himself up next to me. “Isn’t it peaceful out here?” I ask after a long moment of silence. 

“You hate the water,” he reminds me. 

“I like the sound,” I say. “Being by the water with you is the only time I don’t feel crippled with guilt.” Conrad’s breathing hitches and I feel him freeze next to me. “Don’t do that,” I whisper and shake my head. 

“Do what?” 

“Tense up like that. Like I said something wrong.” 

“I just don’t want you to feel that way,” he says. His nose brushes against my cheek, moving away stray hairs that fell into my face. He kisses my jawline and leans his forehead against my temple. “I want you to be happy.” 

“I am happy,” I tell him. “That’s why I feel this way. Belly loves you.” 

“And I love you.” His voice is so quiet I barely hear him but then he says it again. And again. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he repeats over and over again until I shut him up with my mouth and pull him on top of me. He mutters those three words as he kisses me. “You can say it back, you know,” he says, out of breath but smiling. 

“I love you, too,” I tell him. “And I love her and I can’t hurt her.” Conrad’s knuckles brush against my cheek once before he rolls off of me and stands up. “What are you doing?” 

“Just stand up,” he says, holding his hand out to me. I take it and he pulls me up next to him. He traces my wrist and up my forearm and back down to my fingers before taking my hand into his. “We have the rest of the summer,” he says. “And then, we tell her. You tell her.” I nod, not fully convinced. “I know you’ll be scared. I know you’ll try and back out and that’s okay. But you just have to jump sometimes, right?” I look over at the water as he talks. Sometimes you just have to jump. 

“Right,” I mumble. I take a step toward the edge of the pool and hoist my dress up exposing my feet. I use Conrad’s hand to steady myself as I step out of my heels and I dip my toes into the water. “Sometimes you just have to jump.” 

“Not into the water, you fool,” Conrad laughs, trying to pull me away from the pool but I don’t budge. I dip my foot into the water further, repeating his words in my mind. “What are you doing?”

“I’m afraid of a lot of things,” I say. “Which is weird because my whole life has been about trying new things but I’m afraid of a lot of things. Meeting new people, change, bugs, mostly spiders but all bugs, really. And the water.” I pull my foot out of the water and try to catch my breath. “I’m afraid of hurting Belly and I’m afraid to love you but there’s only one thing on that list that I can change.” 

I can feel Conrad watching my every move, holding onto my hand like I might break at any moment. “Yeah, I’m sure I could find some bugs somewhere around here,” he says carefully. I can’t help but laugh. I shake my head and turn around, my back facing the water and I can see his chest deflate, relief washing over his face. 

“I’m not talking about the bugs,” I say, yanking his hand so he stumbles forward and I’m falling backward and it all feels like it’s happening in slow motion until we crash into the water. My arms are flailing, trying to gain traction in the water and my lungs feel like they’re on fire, and for a moment, I feel free. But then the panic sets in and my hands are grasping at nothing and I think I’m drowning but then he wraps his arm around my waist and he brings me to the surface and when I can finally breathe again, I start to laugh. 

“You’re fucking crazy,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “Why are you laughing? We have to go back in there and we’re soaked!” I can see the amusement in his eyes and I know he’s not mad because when I kiss him, he kisses me back. 

taglist: @marajillana@liltimmyst@angelayse@nani-2305@drikawinchester@28cnn@nyenye@isthlsfate@spacefruitsblog@laceandsuch @peotego @hallecarey1

[foreststranger]

BLADE - There’s A Major Problem: I

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ(ꜱ) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ you’re dragging around a dead body lol

ꜱᴛᴀʀʀɪɴɢ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ 『honkai: star rail』blade x gn!reader ft. silver wolf and kafka as emotional support

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ a kinda (barely) angsty-hurty/comfort-maybe-ish-sorta (?) unpolished short-tiny-small-lazy fic where blade dies so you gotta drag him back home and wait for him to heal himself back to life or wtv

𑁍 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 0.9k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

↳ this is based on a dream i had abt him lol anyway i have like 5 diff fics i’m writing and i have only this one finished lmfaooo anyway anyway i also wanted to say sorry for not posting anything in 10 whole days i’ve been a little unmotivated but i’m not gonna be posting for a bit as i’ll be having some family members visiting and unfortunately they speak english and might catch me writing these… HSR x reader fanfics are not something i’d like them to know i write 😍😍 ANYWAY ANYWAY ANYWAY THEY’RE COMING TODAY SO I DECIDED TO CUT THE FIC SHORT MAYBE I’LL CONTINUE IT SOON THOUGH

“Blade, I promise. I’ll always be there to clean you up and take care of you when you’re hurt.”

It feels like years since you made that promise to him. And you regret it. You didn’t know what you were getting into by involving yourself with this man. Blood soaks into your shirt as you look down at him. He’s definitely dead. While you knew of his immortality and regenerative abilities, you can’t help but be a little worried. What if… he doesn’t wake up this time? Blade would certainly want that, but you’re not sure what you’d do without him. His features are soft in the gentle starlight, and he looks… at peace. The only other times you could see him like this were when he was sleeping. After a few more minutes of just admiring him, you remember what you’re supposed to be doing. Your hands grab him from under his arms, pulling him along the cold ground, huffing as you do so.

“Why did you have to go get yourself killed…” you mutter to yourself. Blade is far too heavy for you to carry, so you’re forced to drag him around instead. Even then, it’s a demanding task. Your home was still around a couple of kilometres (roughly a mile) away. You felt like a murderer, bringing around the bloodied body and leaving trails of blood. How were you meant to go back to your neighbourhood like this? Your clothes and hands soaked in scarlet fluid, a dead man in your arms. Under the cover of night, perhaps no one would notice. You grunt as you hoist Blade up a few steps of stairs. Walking backwards, you don’t realize that you’re about to walk into a wall. Until you bump against it, of course.

You crash down to the floor, a piercing pain attacking your skull. Leaning against the wall, you try to lift Blade onto your lap. The effort of lugging him around and the throbbing pain in your head leave you huffing for air. You wipe your crimson hands on your thighs before hugging Blade against you.

“Do you have to be so reckless, Blade…?” You shut your eyes tight, trying in vain to block out the headache. “How am I meant to take care of you…” You hold him close, your face pressing into his back and his dark raven hair.

“I made a promise to you. So, now… I have to take you back home. Try to make this easy for me, okay?” His familiar scent filling your lungs is almost enough to make you completely forget that he’s a corpse as of now. Blood pools around you, soaking almost every inch of fabric covering you. Is it normal for someone to have this much blood? You can’t even tell where it’s coming from, seeming to just flow out of him.

“I love you…” you whisper, planting a gentle kiss on his head. Closing your eyes again, you try to catch your breath before having to drag him off again. When you finally decide to get up, the light of the stars seems to illuminate a path for you, leading the way home. Maybe that’s why they call it Stargazer Navalia.

After a few more minutes of struggling, your pocket buzzes. You’d forgotten that you were keeping Blade’s phone on you. Quickly reaching for the phone, you realize that it could only be one of the Stellaron Hunters.

You put the phone down and breathe out. Both at Silver Wolf’s ridiculousness and in relief that you won’t have to lug around Blade alone anymore. ‘Dear beloved one and only’ is a huge stretch. Though, it was a little nice for her to recognize your… relationship. The Stellaron Hunters were almost like your in-laws, after all.

“Blade? We’re gonna be home soon. Kafka said she’d come help me out.” You can’t help but let out a little chuckle. “I’m so helpless… I can’t even bring you back by myself. At least you’ll be safe soon, though. You’ll be in bed and awake before you know it, Bladie.”

He hated that nickname — saying it reminded him of someone he’d rather not associate with you — but you couldn’t help but call him it sometimes.

Knowing that Kafka is on her way, you decided to settle down for a little and wait for her. But before you can even sit, Blade’s phone vibrates with another notification.

ask before translating, taking inspo from (not copy), reposting, etc. my work. remember to credit me and if you’re taking inspo from it, please @ me as I’d like to see what you do with my ideas!

[sugudoe]

Hey there lovely! I hope your weekend is going very well 🥰

I love your blog, I was wondering if I could also have a matchmake please?

- as for appearance, I am short (about 5’1”) and on the plus size side (🙈) and I pretty much hate that about myself lol

- i live for making people happy. That’s what gives my life a purpose

- I smile a lot, not because i am that happy but i believe that it can brighten someone’s day if I greet them with a smile

- i am huge on kindness. I don’t see it as a weakness, I think the world is desperately in need of kindness so I’m trying to fill that role

- I am a team leader but big on considering the human factor in all decisions

- I’ve been struggling with depression for over 2 years but I worked very hard to get out of it 💪

- I am an introvert but I get to be the goofiest extrovert once I am comfortable around someone

- I love to crochet and make anime sketches

- i am absolutely addicted to pancakes

- and Nutella

- i hate summer and i LOVE autumn and winter and cold weather

- I have a master’s in psychology

I hope i was not too boring with all these facts, again I love your blog 🥰🥰🥰

hello, angel! you seem such a nice person, i hope your kindness always stay present and you may heal of your depression, just as me, reach if you ever need anyone to talk! 🤍 ps: sorry for only one pairing, i’ll be doing this from time to time unless i get confused on pairings — i have other works to post and the matchmakings are for fun, hope u guys understand.

✶ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kamo choso

Despite all the negative weight of the world, you still have hope, something Choso learned when he first was introduced to you. He knew, in that moment of first seeing your smile, he would be a hopelessly mess by your side, in the positive way.

Choso may not look like it, but he shares the same ideals as you. Not for the whole world, but for those he care the most, their happiness is his goals to achieve — your name is inked with hearts on the top of his priority list.

So, Choso first catch you staring down at yourself, your body, and it’s not something he can understand. Bodies are unimpressive to him, let’s be real, his brothers weren’t the most normal looking ones and the love he had for them went beyond anything. He doesn’t understand your hate for yourself, specially being you, a gentle happy person. Choso tries to help, in his best naive way, he bluntly tells you how pretty you are everyday. He may seems stoic, is that he much prefers to compliment your soul, but you know he means it all.

Choso wasn’t used to smile much until he became your little shadow, wherever you go, he follows. And if you smile, he smiles at you. But if you leave, his face is back to a neutral one or with a scowl. He is adorable. Sometimes, though, if his mind is elsewhere, he is by your side with an angry resting face and your happy self talking with someone, is quite a scene to be presented.

You love to speak of the goods of the world to him, and he loves to listen to it. He believes in your capability to change it all for the better, it rubs to him and he catches himself being gentle to strangers, helping the ones who are in need — he always runs back to you telling what he did, like a puppy waiting for praises, and you better grant him.

Choso first learned of your depression just months after you started to date, you had to explain very detailed what it’s like for him, and it broke his heart into multiple pieces — how could someone good and pure have a burden like that? He helps, as best as he can, as far as you let him go, what Choso wants its to be your safe harbor, the lightning house in the middle of your storms and waves. If you allow him, is not something you would regret.

You both are the introverted couple, sitting by the side, in your own world and conversations. Yuuji is your extroverted adopted child, basically. He adores you, he is the one to order your food when the three of you go out, just happy to be with you guys. Adorable.

There are many coins in the prospects of having a boyfriend who just sprouted of nowhere — you can gift him anything and it will be his first time having that, or you can have him tasting your favorites, again, for the first time.

You present Choso with an immense amount of crotchets of large jumpers in pastel colors and scarfs big enough for him to hide his mouth, an habit of his you find adorable. He wears whatever you give him, so cute this broad large male with an angry face wearing a pink sweater with proud.

That’s the best way to describe Choso, he is proud of you to an extent you have barely an idea of how big it is, his love for you reach beyond this world, and yours as well. How odd it seems, one could say, that a half curse could repent and be in love with a blessing.

────〃✿ FUN FACTS.

◛ ₊· Choso was introduced to pancakes and nutella by you, he does not have a sweet tooth, but he likes to eat it because it’s your favorite. Every time he senses your depression is growing stronger, he makes pancakes stuffed with nutella for you.

◛ ₊· When you told him of you psychology masters he was intrigued, and as soon as you explained he asked if he could do the same — you both are now making the preparations for his documents so he can start college soon (all payed by Gojo, of course).

◛ ₊· Choso likes to stare at you. Just stare, blank face, mouth shut. At first it scared you, until you noticed his eyes. He couldn’t mask or hide the love he held in his eyes.

◛ ₊· If you try to do the same and stare at him, he will get flustered.

[pidglette]

this is long, sappy, and i didn’t proof read it. enjoy!

the caption of a dnp post from my d-low instagram:

obviously meeting dan and phil has been really big for me and i was going to do this big, long, sappy caption about how they have really shaped me and supported me in ways that i really couldn’t even begin to describe but writing is really REALLY hard.

i’ve watched dan and phil for ten maybe eleven years. all of my formative years dan and phil have been there. not literally obviously they don’t know me but ok the screen they have been there and have been a massive source of comfort.

dan and phil are very much a form of escapism and comfort for me. when i first started watching them it was because they were these silly dudes posting videos about their life that made me smile and gave me an opportunity to step away from everything that was going on in my life and at home.

as their content shifted, so did i. as they became older, i did too.

when i was in college dan uploaded a video about his struggles with depression - at the time i didn’t know how much that video would help me when i started experiencing similar symptoms. panic attacks became a common thing for me to experience in my early teens and that video that dan had shared really helped me to reach out to counsellor and know that medication was okay to take - it wasn’t coping out or being too sensitive. i was struggling and that was okay. later on dan would go on to publish a book on mental health and share his journey seeing a therapist, working through trauma, and learning to cope, to live, to exist. therapy wasn’t something i had considered, or known that i had needed, until i started listening to the audio version of his book late last year. he talked about his expierences and how therapy had helped him to better manage what he was dealing with, and this really opened up the idea in my mind that again, something like therapy was okay. i’m not broken, but the way i think, the way i feel, it isn’t okay, and reaching out for help in a serious way to work through trauma is okay.

phil has also had such a big impact on me. this might sound so dumb but stick with me team. phil is, at least on screen, a generally goofy guy and was always considered a bit weird or goofy, but that bro is so confident

in himself that it is RADIANT. (guess who was also considered weird and goofy and low key hated themselves or it MEEEEE). phil has always said that to be normal is to be boring, and i couldn’t not agree with a statement more. i have always tried so hard to fit in especially since my mid teens and im so sick of being someone i’m not, or for being glared at when i let my guard down and be myself. phil has really shown me, i guess indirectly, that being me is absolutely okay, because those who matter and like me for ME don’t care if i’m weird, say the odd thing, talk a bit too much. i have every right to be myself.

meeting them truly healed something in me. especially meeting them at this stage in both my life and theirs. would i have loved to meet them at 12? absolutely. but meeting them at 21, where i’ve been through life, i’ve made mistakes and am coming into my own. where they’re out, able to freely be themselves without any worry. it feels so so so incredibly special and healing. they’re gay and old, i’m gay and old, and we both regret our digital footprints.

i wish i had thanked them for everything when i met them, but i was too busy freaking out over how tall they are because jesus fucking christ they’re giants. i wish i thanked them for helping raise me, for building such a loveing and accepting community, for giving me friends in unlikely places who i love with my whole and entire heart, for teaching me that i am worthy of love - even when that seems like such an impossible task.

anyways thank you to dan and phil, these random british twinks in their 30s who only just discovered that i exist. you guys will always have a special place in my heart, even if it’s a bit weird and cringe. and thank you to anyone who read this, even though this probably makes zero sense, and thank you to everyone who has put up with me nonstop talking about dan and phil for the past six months :)

lots of love, piper

[elialys]

Per your lovely, lovely flawed show tag, I am curious what you think the flaws of Fringe are?

I’m sorry it took me so long to answer, I got distracted!

Fringe definitely had its share of flaws. I won’t even address the ones that can “be excused” by the fact that it was a show made before/early 2010s in terms of representations/inclusions, because you know, it is what it is.

I think my biggest ‘regret’/annoyance has always been the writers’ tendency to…shove traumas under a rug, or to not properly (if at all) talk about the consequences of some events that happened. I get that they had to make the characters go through a lot of drama because that’s the point of stories, especially on TV shows that have over 20 episodes per season, but the characters suffered through some terrible stuff time and time again, and they were just FINE. And it’s not like they didn’t know how to do it!

I’ve always loved the first few episodes of season 2 because they showed recovery. Olivia had a bad car accident, then she had to kill “Charlie”, and it took her time to get better from all of that, not just physically but emotionally, too. And yet, over and over again after that, she goes through horrible things and there’s…almost nothing? Like, I adore Marionette, I think it’s a brilliant episode through & through, but I still can’t believe Olivia went through all the shit she went through Over There (and coming back) and didn’t have some serious PTSD, on top of EVERYTHING ELSE she’d already gone through (aka why I wrote Shivered Bones). Peter too was barely allowed to mention what Walter did to him after he came back at the end of season 2, barely ever allowed to mention what Altlivia did to him either, except in some awkward bits of dialogue (I will discuss Peter’s character a bit more later).

Also, the whole REWRITING THE TIMELINE at the end of season 3?? Biggest cop-out. I mean, I’ve never hid the fact that any kind of ‘amnesia’ plot is honestly one of my LEAST favorite tropes, in anything. From the moment that season started airing and Peter reappeared being a complete stranger, I just disliked that so much on principle. But what will always pain me is how by doing so, the writers completely erased not just Peter but THE FIRST THREE SEASONS.

Like, poof, gone.

(adding a 'keep reading' because this is long 😂)

Conveniently, it erased Baby!Henry in the process, which the writers might have felt would be too much of an issue? Personally I would have loved to see that unfold. I know I’ve discussed this before on this blog, probably more than once, but they could have kept SO MUCH of season 4 the way it was, as far as the Bridge was concerned, could have come up with a brand new Vilain to do all the “NEW UNIVERSE” stuff Bell/Jones tried to do, while our core characters had to deal with the consequences of everything that happened in season 3 (including Peter being a dad, WITHOUT trying to force a stupid ‘love triangle’ down our throats, thank you). It would have made for great, impactful family drama, because who are we kidding. Anyone who loves Fringe typically loves it because it is such an emotional, family drama. So yes, I will forever mourn the universe(s) we had season 1-3, and endlessly daydream about what could have been.

Now let me talk about Peter Bishop, it’s been a hot minute. Peter Bishop, who was hated basically the entire time the show was airing, and still now is strongly disliked by a lot of viewers, and honestly, I can’t blame them? I’ve had over a decade to analyze his character, have spent hundreds of hours writing stories from his POV, explaining his traumas & mistakes, have written giant meta posts about him back in the days to explain his behavior, so I’m not exactly objective, but I’m also very honest about how flawed his character is. Not (just) as a human being, which is normal because humans are flawed. I mean, he’s flawed in the way the writers used him/wrote him.

He’s probably the most inconsistent of all the characters. He’s the character who suffered the most from the ‘let’s make this person act out a certain way to make sure it fits our plot’ syndrome.  I will never forgive the writers for how…clueless (for lack of a better word), they wrote Peter in early season 3 during the Switch. Yes, Peter was traumatized as a kid, yes he was in love, yes yes, I know all of that, I’ve written endlessly about it to explain his cluelessness so I know.

Still, Peter should have figured it out. Peter as we saw him in season 1 and 2, especially second half of season 2, would have figured out. He figured out BY HIMSELF that he was from another universe, ‘just’ from his dad and Olivia’s weird behaviors and the fact that he didn’t go ‘POOF’ on that bridge in 2x18. Peter went to another universe, he met Olivia’s alternate. He’d just spent weeks running from his life, trying to accept the fact that he was lied to all of his life. At best, he was suspicious, at worst, he was paranoid (as was mentioned in 2x20 in Northwest Passage). Literally 3 days after he gets to THAT OTHER UNIVERSE, and 3 hours after meeting Olivia’s doppelganger, Olivia ‘I hide from my own emotions’ Dunham comes tell him he belongs with her and smooches him, so he goes home. Yet the writers want me to believe Peter would not have still been reeling from EVERYTHING that just happened in his life, and not be a bit on edge?

Like, ‘damn, the woman I love and have come to know quite well these past 2 years is suddenly SO DIFFERENT? ALMOST LIKE SHE’S ANOTHER PERSON? A BIT LIKE THAT ALTERNATE VERSION OF HER I MET 48H AGO, THAT’S NOT A COINCIDENCE AT ALL’. But nope, Peter just accepts it, EVERY CHARACTER on that side just accepts it, when Lincoln and Charlie keep on looking at our Olivia like “Is this chick for real? WHAT IF THEY SWITCHED THEM?”

I’m forever frustrated. It just doesn’t feel believable to me, never has. It feels like the writers went “we want everyone, and especially Peter, to be clueless the entire time so we can write our drama the way we planned it.” And that’s a shame, honestly, because that whole damn arc is already so good as it is. But it would been even better if Peter HAD figured it out, if he’d kept on pretending for a bit, if HE’D conned Altlivia the way she conned him. Like I mentioned before, Olivia already went through so much trauma during the Switch, they could have found ways to make her miserable upon coming back, without Peter having slept with her alternate for a few weeks—and the knowledge that he didn’t realize what was going on. More daydreaming on my part about what could have been.

I could go on when it comes to the way they wrote Peter honestly. The whole “maybe Peter has feelings for the other Olivia” crap in the second half of s3, and “the universe that will survive depends on which Olivia Peter chooses”, excuse me??? Altlivia basically abused him??? She used him in so many ways, including sexually. She wasn’t even herself, she was pretending, playing him the whole time. HOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FEELINGS EXCEPT A LOT OF SELF-LOATHING AND MORE UNRESOLVED TRAUMA?

Anyway, I think you get my vibe and why I’ll forever be sad/mad about this. As a writer & storyteller myself, one of my strengths and favorite aspects of writing is figuring out the characters’ motivations, what drives them, and how it makes them behave. Peter’s character is just…wobbly, during those arcs. He’s inconsistent from plotline to plotline, and it feels off to me. He’s a lot more true and consistent to how I understand him in season 4, but in season 3, he’s a hot mess, meant as a plot device more than anything else, and that makes me sad. Characters are what drive stories and shape the plot, not the other way around. So yeah, I don’t blame people for always having such strong opinions/dislikes where Peter is concerned.

I could come up with more things, but this is already long enough 😂 In case that wasn’t clear, those flaws don’t stop me from having the deepest love for this show. What it did well, it did extremely well, and even all those years later, I still cry rewatching it, because the emotions were real. They're still real.

Plus it gave me Olivia Dunham, so really, it wins just for that.

[gunilslaugh]

I'm not the original ask, but the bet fic is sooooooo good. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Could you possibly do a part 2 where they regret it and the reader is doing great? Could you maybe also do an angst ending and happy where they get back together with conditions and time? (If not, that is perfectly fine. Your writing is so good❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️)

Thank you! Here is part 2! Only with angst ending though because if I wrote a happy ending too I felt like this post would have been too long. I guess I could do another post with the happy endings if you guys really want though.

All members < ~ _ ~ >

Summary: Xdinary Heroes sincerely regret ever making that bet. They feel horrible for hurting you, but when they run into you they find out that you’re just fine.

WC:~2.8k

Warning:angst

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

“I hope I never see you again.” Gunil keeps hearing you say those words. He remembers the pain in your eyes and the anger in your voice. Your last conversation haunts him. It’s been a few months, but he still plays it over in his head everyday. He feels absolutely horrible. If someone asked him right now what his biggest regret was he would answer making that bet. Betting that he could make you fall in love with him. He doesn’t even have excuses to make about why he did it. Maybe he thought that it would make him seem cool, although how would doing such a horrible thing make him cool? It made him a massive jerk.  Perhaps he thought that it could give him some type of street cred, but who would want street cred about being a guy who played with someone’s feelings? Even any possible reasons he tried to think of could never justify for what he did. Gunil is only left with the consequences of it. 

Gunil was stopping in to grab a coffee before heading into the studio for the day. Much to his surprise he finds you inside the shop as well. You’re with one of your friends and you look really happy. It makes Gunil feel relieved. He thought that you would still be hurting, like him. However you deserve to be happy and Gunil was about to exit the shop, to let you keep being happy when, “Gunil!” you called him. He was even more surprised, you said you never wanted to see him again. He turns to look at you and finds that you're approaching him.

“Y/n,” he says.

“Can we talk for a minute?” you asked. You just keep surprising him. 

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. The two of you went and sat at a table. He notices your friend watching him like a hawk, but he knows he deserves it. “You look good,” he said. 

“Thanks,” you smiled. 

“You don’t have to believe me, but I am really sorry about the bet,” he apologizes. You know he is, you can tell by how awful he looks.

“I do believe you. I’ve forgiven you too. I was really upset at first, obviously,” you chuckled. “I healed from it though and I’m doing really well now.”

“I’m glad.” 

“You should forgive yourself too, Gunil. I can tell you’re beating yourself up about it. What you did was wrong, but learn from it, move on,” you tell him. Gunil doesn’t want to move on from you, but he can tell from your words that you have moved on from him. He wants you back, but he does not want to ruin your happiness either. 

“I’ll try.” 

“Good, I should get going now. My friend is waiting,” you say, standing up.

“Right, of course. I need to head into the studio too.” Gunil also stands up. 

“Bye.” You waved a simple hand to him. 

“Bye.” He also raised a parting hand. Then he watches you walk out of the shop and he’s left feeling a stabbing pain in his heart.

Jungsu

Jungsu didn’t take the money just like he said he wouldn’t. He regrets everything. He never should have made that stupid bet. 

“You act like such a nice guy, a caring guy, a sweet guy. And I fell for it.” Jungsu’s head falls into his hands as he recalls your words. Why did he have to make that bet? He could have just dated you normally. Been a nice, caring, sweet guy that you would fall for, but no he wanted to prove that there was more to him than being a nice guy. Even looking back that sounds so stupid. What did he think was wrong with being a nice guy? Jungsu guessed that he did get what he wanted. He doesn’t view himself as a nice guy anymore. He hates himself, thinks that he is pathetic and a horrible person. He hurt you and he will never forgive himself for that. 

Jungsu is out wandering the streets. It’s night and the air is chilly. Jungsu didn’t bother to put on a jacket because he didn't care. Presently he didn’t care about himself because he was a horrible person. He thinks he might be going crazy as he sees a person who looks exactly like you coming up to him. There’s no way you would ever willingly approach after what he did to you. 

“Jungsu, why are you out here? It’s late and cold.” Jungsu blinks his eyes multiple times. Was it really you? Were you really  standing right in front of him? “Jungsu?” You waved your hand in front of his face. 

“Y/n?” His voice almost cracks.

“Hi,” you said. 

“I really am sorry, so sorry. I’m a horrible person for what I did. I never should have done it. I regret it so much. I didn’t take the money either for whatever that’s worth,” he began to ramble, leaning forwards. His knees even looked like they might buckle any second. 

“Jungsu, Jungsu.” You reached out, taking a hold of his arms, scared that he would fall. “It’s ok. I’m ok. I’m great actually.” 

“You do look great,” he voices, looking you over. “I miss you.” he whispered, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. 

“Thank you,” you said, but you didn’t say that you missed him too. Jungsu understands though. Why would you miss him? He hurt you. “Can you get home ok?” At least you still care about him.

“Yeah.” He straightened himself out. You let go of your hold on his arms and he misses your warmth. “Don’t worry about me. You get home safe,” he tells you. 

“I will.” With that you two part ways. Jungsu goes back home to his bed and cries his broken heart out.

Gaon/Jiseok

“That’s how I feel knowing that I was just a bet.” Jiseok sighs, sitting down on his bed. You weren’t just a bet. He knows that you don’t believe him, but it is true. After getting to know you he fell for you too. He stopped caring about the bet. That’s why he never told the members when he found out that you fell for him. They only found out after seeing a “love you” text that you sent him. You don’t know that though and you also don’t know that he returned the money his members paid him for winning. He didn’t want it. It made him feel bad. In fact he was even planning on telling you about the bet, but he didn’t know how to. He knew that telling you about it would risk losing you. He didn’t want to lose you, so he thought he would take the time to plan it all out. Figure out how to tell you in a way that hopefully wouldn’t result in you leaving him.

Alas you found out before he could. He tried to tell you the truth, but you didn’t believe him. He can’t blame you though. Jiseok wanted to explain the situation to you so badly, but he could see how hurt you were. How your trust for him had been broken, so instead he let you go. Watching you walk away he wanted to chase after you, but he knew at the time it wouldn’t do any good. 

Now all he can think about is how he should have never made that bet. How he should have called it off. Why didn’t he call it off? Why did he make such a huge mistake?

Jiseok was on his way back to the dorm after finishing up practice when he crossed paths with you. Ironically enough it’s the exact same spot the two of you broke up. 

“Hey Jiseok,” you spoke up first. 

“Hey,” he said back. 

“How have you been?” you asked him. 

“Not great, I feel really bad y/n. I did really mean it when I said that I cared about you. I made a mistake not calling the bet off. I regret even making it in the first place too. I’m sorry,” he answers. 

“I believe you and I accept your apology.” you tell him. 

“Then-”

“Y/n, baby!” A guy comes up, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Who’s this?” they ask.

“An old friend,” you told them.

“Nice to meet you,” they say. Jiseok nods.

“Well don’t let me keep you two.” Jiseok excuses himself. He turns back to watch you walk away, in the embrace of another man. Jiseok is left alone with his aching heart.

O.de/Seungmin

Seungmin returned that day from the cafe and immediately started arguing with Hyeongjun. 

“Why did you tell them? You ruined everything!” Seungmin yelled as he held Hyeongjun by the collar. The other members were quick to separate them. 

“Yes, I know I ruined your fun, but you were just playing with them! You were gonna break up with them after you won the bet. They deserved to know. I couldn’t just let you play with them!” Hyeongjun yelled back. The other members and Seungmin were shocked. They never heard Hyeongjun shout like that before. Seungmin went to his room, slamming the door behind him. He wasn’t actually mad at Hyeongjun for telling you, he was mad at himself. Hyeongjun was right. He was just playing with you. He was gonna break up with you at the end of the three months. However, seeing how hurt you were, being seconds from breaking down. All because of him made him see how awful what he was doing was. He regrets it. 

The sights of you walking out of the cafe and the last words you said to Seungmin, “I hope I never see you again.” keep stabbing him in the heart. The event even haunts his dreams and sometimes he wakes up with tears in his eyes. He finds that he misses you. That all those dates he took you on weren't just so he could win the bet. He actually really enjoyed spending time with you. Seungmin thinks of it as karma. It’s what he gets for doing a heinous act. He hopes that you’re doing better than him. That you aren’t still hurting because of an asshole like him.

Seungmin in a convenient store buying some snacks for the form when the bell chimes, alerting that someone has entered. He looked over to the door just in time to see you entering. He briefly thinks about hiding. You did say that you hoped you never saw him again. 

“Seungmin!” Before he can even decide you’re calling his name. He’s surprised to say the least. However he is pleasantly shocked to see how good you look. Your eyes are bright, you’re wearing a smile, your outfit is cute. 

“Hey y/n,” he greets you a bit awkwardly.

“I’m not mad at you anymore Seungmin,” you inform him. Seungmin doesn’t know what he did to deserve that. 

“Thank you. I’m really sorry for what I did. I mean it. I’m not only sorry because Hyeongjun told you. I’ve come to regret what I did. I was being an awful person. I’m sorry I put you through that. You didn’t deserve it…and I miss you too,” he apologized. You can tell he’s sincere. 

“Sounds like you did some growing up,” you said. Seungmin nodded. “Don’t hurt the next one,” you tell him. Now Seungmin knows he can’t get you back. 

“I won't,” he replied. The two of you say goodbye and Seungmin tries to hold himself together until he gets home.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeonjun really didn’t want to hurt you. He knows that it doesn’t sound believable because if he didn’t want to hurt you then why did he do the bet? Hyeongjun doesn’t have a simple answer for that. Honestly he was interested in you before he even made the bet with his members. In some twisted way the bet gave Hyeongjun the confidence to go up and talk to you. As to why he didn’t call off the bet after your relationship started, Hyeongjun doesn’t know himself. He wished that he had though. He regrets taking the money. He regrets buying something with it. He felt so much guilt that he returned what he had purchased. He also gave the members their money back. Hyeongjun desperately wishes for a time machine. A way where he could go back and fix what he did,but he can’t. He wishes that he tried to explain why he did it, instead of telling you goodbye. Because even if you didn’t believe him at least he would have tried. Maybe one day you would believe him and know the truth. What’s done is done. He has to live with the consequences. The guilt, the pain, the heartache. He’ll deal with it because he knows that he deserves it. 

Hyeongjun likes to go to your guy's old spot. To reminisce on the good times you had together. The times where he was just happy to be with you.

“You still come here?” Your voice caught his attention. He turns around to see you. He almost can’t believe it. He thinks that he might be dreaming.

“Yeah, reminds me of good times,” he tells you. You smile. It’s just as beautiful as he remembers. 

“It reminds me of good times too,” you state. 

“I know you probably still won’t believe me, but I really didn’t want to hurt you. I returned what I bought with the money and the money. Because it didn’t feel good, it felt horrible. I shouldn’t have gone through with the bet. I regret not calling it off. I really just wanted to be with you y/n. I’m sorry for everything,” he expressed.

“Thank you. I’ve forgiven you a while ago Hyeongjun. I wouldn’t have been able to move on and become happy if I didn’t. I fondly remember our time together. That’s why I still come here.” Move on. You had moved on from him. It was too late.

“I remember our time together fondly as well,” he said, masking his pain. “Uh I have practice in the morning, so I should get going,” he excused.

“Right, you should go.”

“Bye,” he tells you. 

“Goodbye Hyeongjun.” For Hyeongjun these are the most painful words you ever told him.

Jooyeon

“Don’t be too sorry you did win the game. I fell in love with you, so congratulations. I hope you had fun playing.” Jooyeon hasn’t been able to play games after you said that. Anytime he tries he thinks about how he hurt you. You were right he did know what he was doing. The bet sounded like a fun game to him. He wanted to play and win and he technically did both of those things. However it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t have fun playing, well maybe at first, but definitely not at the end. He regrets it so much. He was foolish and awful. 

Jooyeon kept that plushie that he won that day. The one you harshfully shoved back into his chest. He doesn’t know why he keeps it though, it only tortures him. Reminds him of how horrible he was. Maybe that’s why he keeps it. It’s like a form of self punishment. He hugs it to sleep as he cries wishing that he hasn’t been so dumb. That he could still be with you. 

Jooyeon stands in front of the arcade. The last place he was together with you. He comes here sometimes to think about that day. What he possibly could have said. What he shouldn’t have said. Maybe if he just came clean and owned up to it all you could have found a way to forgive him. That two of you could have worked through it and still be together. 

“Aren’t you gonna go in?” Jooyeon can’t believe the voice that he is hearing. He must miss you so much that now he is hearing you. When he turns around he finds that he is not imagining hearing you, it’s actually you. 

“Y/n,” he says in disbelief. 

“Hi,” you greet him. 

“And no I’m not going in. I can’t play games anymore,” he reveals.

“What? You love games.” Now you are the one in disbelief. 

“Not after I hurt you. Making that bet was one of the dumbest things I ever did. I viewed it as a game that I wanted to win, but I regret it all. It wasn’t fun and horrible towards you. I did enjoy our time together though for whatever that’s worth. I liked gaming with you and going on dates. I do care about you.” I’m in love with you, but those words didn’t leave his mouth. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself Jooyeon. I’m glad that you matured and realized that it was wrong. I’m doing great now and I want you to be too. Let’s both grow from this and remember each other fondly,” you tell him. Remember each other fondly, those words shattered Jooyeon’s heart. He couldn’t fix things. You and him would never be together again. 

Jooyeon nodded and then you both parted ways leaving Jooyeon with the pieces of his shattered heart.

[fanfictionalraven]

Dream Warriors Chapter 10

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 10

Summary: Can our Dream Warriors make it out alive?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, other original characters

Word Count: 3,112

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author’s Note: The grand finale!! I can't believe it's really over. This series has taken me a long time to finally get completely posted. I'm pretty proud of it. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. Let's see how it all ends...

Read Chapter 9 here.

Still laying in Dean’s arms, you let out another scream. Dean glares up at the witch as she continues to smirk at the two of you in the floor. 

“I’ll kill you. If you take over her body, I will kill you,” he threatens. 

“See, I don’t think you’ll be able to. I know how she feels about you and, from her memories, I’m pretty sure you feel the same way,” she says as she walks over and kneels down next to the two of you. “It’s so cliché. The two best friends who are so madly in love but too afraid to cross that line. I’ve seen that movie a hundred times. I think I’ll change the ending.” She rises to her feet and moves over to the refrigerator in the room. Pulling the door open, she looks in and grabs a bottle of water. “Maybe I’ll get the guy.” You grit your teeth and lay your head back against Dean’s shoulder, another pain hitting. 

“If I don’t make it, you better rip her apart,” you tell him. He presses a kiss to your temple and shakes his head. 

“You’re gonna make it, Sweetheart,” he says before moving to prop you up against the counter. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before rising to his feet. The witch looks over and smiles widely.

“Oh, you wanna fight?” She asks, setting the bottle on the counter. “How adorable. The knight in shining armor, willing to die for his love.” You let out another scream and watch in horror as Dean charges at the witch. She merely laughs and with a flick of her wrist, sends him flying into the opposite wall. “Dean, Dean, Dean…” She says as she walks over towards him. “I’ve got the power here. I am in complete control.” He forces himself up and swings at her, knocking her back, stunned. “Why you little…” She snaps her fingers and Dean screams out in pain. 

“Stop!!” You scream out, watching as he twists in agony on the floor. “Stop!! I’ll give up!!” She looks at you and raises an eyebrow. You swallow thickly, fighting tears. “Let him go, let him wake up, and I’ll give up. I’ll stop fighting.” 

“Y/N, no!!” Dean calls out through gritted teeth. 

“Please,” you beg. The witch watches you for a moment before snapping her fingers once again. Dean stops screaming and sits back, leaning against the wall behind himself. “Send him back,” you tell her. 

“I will. Calm down. How did you get here though?” She asks, looking back at Dean. He sets his jaw, staring her down. With a smirk, she raises a hand towards you and Dean’s eyes widen. 

“A different spell,” he tells her in a rush. The witch nods her head slowly as she thinks this over. 

“Like a backdoor…fascinating,” she says mostly to herself. You watch her and frown. 

“Send him back,” you say once again. She glances at you and with a wave of her hand, Dean disappears. You let out a sigh and lay your head back against the counter. “Can we at least stop this charade?” You ask. She waves her hand once again and the pain fades away along with your overgrown stomach. Closing your eyes, you can feel the life slipping away from you. It wouldn’t be long now. 

“So many regrets,” the witch says, watching you. You glance at her and frown. 

“Please stop reading my mind,” you tell her. She laughs lightly and crosses her arms. 

“All those different scenarios…all those different plays…this was your favorite,” she says. You sigh and close your eyes again, trying to ignore her. “A normal, happy life. Completely domestic. Married and a baby on the way. You two could have really been happy.” 

“I’m just gonna picture Dean killing you now, if that’s okay,” you tell her. She laughs as she sits in one of the chairs at the table. 

“I don’t get it. You’re so obviously in love with him, enough to die for him now, but you never said anything. Never made a move,” she says. You groan and shake your head. 

“This is not how I pictured the end,” you mumble. She watches you for a moment before waving her hand once again. The kitchen scene disappears and is replaced with a more familiar one. “This isn’t my room,” you comment. You were now resting in Dean’s bed in the bunker. She smiles from her chair across the room. 

“You’d rather be in here and we both know it,” she says. You lean back against the headboard with a sigh and close your eyes, thinking about the last time you were really in here. Dean had been beaten up pretty bad on a hunt and you’d stayed the night with him, watching over him and taking care of his wounds. “This is getting sickening.” 

“Well it’s still my mind for a few more minutes. I’ll think about whatever I want,” you tell her. 

“You could at least picture him naked,” she mumbles causing you to actually laugh out loud. The laugh dies out quickly as you grimace, squeezing your eyes closed a little tighter. As you lose yourself in different memories, one flashes through your mind and you quickly tuck it away before she has a chance to see it too. It wasn’t a happy one. Dean was a demon, hunting you and Sam in the bunker. You’d taken refuge here in his bedroom, a place you knew was stocked with hidden weapons. 

“Why didn’t you just kill me?” You ask, forcing yourself to sit up. She glances over at you and rolls her eyes. 

“Loophole in the spell. I can inflict pain. I can cause injury but I have to drain the life from you slowly,” she explains as she checks her nails. You nod slightly and swing your legs over the side of the bed. “What are you doing?” 

“I just want to stretch my legs,” you tell her. You knew your legs were too weak to support your weight and that’s what you were counting on at this point. “Spell seems complicated. Have you done it before?” You ask, trying to keep her talking so she wouldn’t be as focused on you. She sighs and lays her head back. 

“Hundreds of times. I’ve been jumping bodies for centuries now. I’d lost my book in the last jump when I landed in this…child. Kaylee,” she sneers the name with disgust. You glance at her and frown. 

“Not a fan of the name?”

“Much too modern,” she says, looking at her nails casually.

“And what do you prefer? Eve?” You question, earning a laugh. She glances over at you, smirking.

“Hardly.” She eyes you for a moment as you continue to gauge your strength. “Morcant was my given name. Of course, you people have modernized it. Morgan.”

“If you’ve done this so many times, why did you need the book?” You ask, standing up carefully. Your legs wobble beneath you. She sighs now, seemingly exasperated by your continued questioning.

“If you must know, it’s the source of my power. Without the book, I’ve got nothing,” she says. It’s only a moment before your legs give out, as you’d expected, and you collapse to the floor with a crash. The witch looks at you and starts to laugh, rising from her seat. “Not as strong as you’d thought, hmmm?” She taunts, dropping down next to you. Your hand slips under the bed and immediately comes into contact with something cold and metallic. You look up at her and smirk. 

“No. But I’m strong enough,” you say before pulling the angel blade from under the bed. You drive the spike into her stomach and she screams out in agony. 

“You bitch!!” She spits through gritted teeth. Something flashes in her eyes briefly before she smirks. She waves a hand and… 

You sit up suddenly with a gasp and take in your surroundings. Six eyes are watching you closely, all shocked. Sam. Cas. Rowena. The pain surges through you suddenly and you let out an unearthly scream as you fall back into the pillows. You’re immediately aware of the body next to you. Despite the pain coursing through you, you realize that Dean is next to you, still unconscious. 

“No,” you mumble, trying to reach for him. You hadn’t noticed Sam had left the room until he comes back. 

“What’s that?” Cas asks. Sam uncaps the syringe and grabs your arm. 

“Morphine. I took it from the hospital,” he tells him before stabbing it into your arm. It acts quickly, numbing the pain. You feel the pull to go back under and reach out for Sam, to ask him about Dean. He takes your hand in his but the drug takes its full effect before you can get the words out. 

You come to some time later, groggy and confused. You aren’t in the bedroom anymore. Now, you’re in the dungeon, strapped to the chair in the center of the room. The pain is still very much present but it isn’t as bad as before, the morphine still working. The door to the dungeon opens and Sam steps into the room. 

“Sam! Where’s Dean?” You ask. He watches you for a moment then looks down the hall. 

“Rowena, she’s awake,” he calls out before stepping into the room fully. 

“Did Dean wake up?” You ask, trying to pull against the restraints. The younger Winchester ignores your pleas, arms crossed over his chest. Rowena steps into the room now and walks over. She blows a fistful of powder into your face, causing you to cough. “The hell??” You gasp, triggering the pain in your side. 

“Truth spell,” Sam explains. You stare at him for a moment before you nod, understanding. 

“Please, hurry,” you beg. Sam waits for a moment, allowing the spell to take full effect. You groan in agony, hanging your head. “Sam, please.” Rowena looks at him and nods once. 

“What’s your name?” Sam asks. Something rushes through you, a tingling sensation, as the spell works. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you tell him quickly. You can visibly see the relief wash over him. 

“What happened?” He asks as he rushes over to untie your wrists. 

“Got an angel blade from under Dean’s bed and stabbed her,” you explain. He frowns and nods. “Where’s Dean?” 

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” he says. His words wash over you. That wasn’t possible. 

“No. No, she was supposed to send him back,” you tell him. He looks at you and shakes his head slightly. 

“What?” He asks. 

“I made a deal with her. I’d give up if she sent him back. He…he disappeared,” you say, looking up at Rowena. Her brow furrows as she thinks this over. 

“Did you see her die?” She asks. Sam gets you free from the chair and you move to stand quickly. Too quickly. You fall into Sam immediately and he wraps an arm around your waist to support you. 

“No. I just…woke up,” you tell them. You begin to pale and Sam frowns. 

“Alright, let’s get you back in bed,” he says, scooping you up into his arms quickly. You shake your head. 

“No!! We have to get Dean back!!” You protest. Sam starts down the hall and glances back at Rowena. 

“What do we do?” He asks. You groan and lay your head back, closing your eyes. The pain was coming back with a vengeance. 

“This is tricky,” she says, shaking her head. Sam carries you back into the bedroom where Cas is examining Dean. The angel looks up from Dean’s still body and manages a small smile. 

“It’s Y/N?” He asks. You look over at him and nod quickly before your eyes fall to Dean. 

“Rowena, what happened?” You ask as Sam lays you on the bed once again. 

“Could she have jumped to Dean? Could she control two bodies at once like that?” Sam asks, looking at the witch. You force yourself up onto your elbows to watch them. 

“That would take…decades of practice,” she says, shaking her head. 

“She has it!!” You tell them. They all look at you. “She said she’s been doing this for centuries. Jumping from body to body.” You gasp suddenly, remembering. “The book!!” You attempt to force yourself up from the bed but Sam reaches over, stopping you. 

“What about it?” 

“She said it’s the source of her power. Without it, she has nothing,” you explain as you try to sit up. Cas brings Sam another syringe of morphine and you frown at him. “No!! I have to help Dean!!” 

“We’ll figure it out. You can’t even stand right now. Rest,” he tells you, but you shake your head defiantly.  

“Send me back,” you say, looking at Rowena. “You sent Dean in. Now send me.” 

“That’s too risky,” Cas says, frowning.  

“I don’t care about the damn risk!! I have to get Dean back!!” You protest. Sam nods slightly.  

“Okay. Yea. We’ll send you back. Just lay down. Let Rowena get the spell ready,” he says. You watch him for a moment before laying back against the bed once more. Your eyes land on Dean, next to you on the bed. He looks like he’s peacefully sleeping but you can only imagine what she’s doing to him. The slightest pinch in your arm draws your attention quickly. Sam empties the syringe into your arm as you stare in disbelief. 

“You lied.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, rising to his full height. Tears flood your eyes as you feel the drugs taking over once again. “We’ll destroy the book and you’ll both be fine.” 

“I love him, Sam,” you cry. 

“I know,” he says, brushing your hair from your face. “And you can tell him that as soon as you wake up.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead as the morphine pulls you under once again.  

***

Some time later, you come to once again, just as confused as the last time. This time you hadn’t been moved. You’re still lying in Dean’s bed only now you have a blanket draped over you and you’re completely alone. Sam, Cas, and Rowena were nowhere to be seen and Dean was no longer next to you. Carefully, you rise to an upright position, wincing only slightly at the pain in your side. A gunshot wound and broken ribs were not a good combination. Forcing your stiff limbs to move, you get your legs over the edge of the bed just as the bedroom door opens. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean asks. You break into a wide smile, and if you could, you’d run and tackle him. 

“You’re okay!!” You proclaim. He laughs as he walks over. 

“I’m always okay. You need to lay back down,” he tells you. Shaking your head quickly, you hold a hand out for him. He takes your hand in his and sits down next to you on the bed. “You need more medicine?” He asks as you lay your head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep right now. I’ve been out for long enough,” you say. He laughs lightly and nods before dropping a kiss to the top of your head. 

“It’s good to see you awake,” he says, his voice soft. 

“Could say the same for you,” you tell him. He lets out a small laugh drawing you to look up at him now. “What was it?” 

“She did pretty good. Had me think I woke up just before she finished you off. Guess she wanted to see if I actually could kill you,” he says, his eyes set on some far off point. Taking his face in your hands gently, you pull him back to look at you. 

“Hey. Whatever happened, whatever you did, it wasn’t real, okay? I’m fine,” you tell him, but he shakes his head quickly. 

“I couldn’t do it,” he confesses. “I thought if I knew it wasn’t you, if I knew you were gone, I’d be able to put my feelings aside but…” He trails off and you bite at your lip. “We need to have a talk about that will of yours too because that is too much pressure.” 

“Will?” You ask, eyes widening. Oh God. “You mean…” 

“Arnold showed up. Gave me your letter,” he tells you. Staring at him, your mind races. He read the letter. The letter you’d written at a very dark time, spilling your heart onto paper just for him. 

“You really weren’t supposed to see that,” you mumble. Dean laughs lightly and presses his lips to your forehead. 

“Then maybe you should be a little more careful about what spells you get put under,” he teases. You laugh at this and shake your head. 

“She’s dead, right?” You ask. He nods quickly. 

“Burst into flames right in front of me,” he says. “They burned the book out here, so she…” He makes an exploding motion with his hands, complete with sound effects. You nod your head slightly. “You don’t seem as excited about that as I thought you would?” 

“Nothing feels different. I was hoping I’d be able to feel that this was real, to know she was gone, but…” You’re cut off abruptly by Dean’s lips against yours. It’s a gentle and chaste kiss only lasting long enough to shut you up. 

“That feel real?” He asks. You swallow thickly and nod, unable to speak. That kiss was different from the ones in your dreams. His lips were more chapped than they had been in your mind. There was whiskey on his breath.

“That letter…” You say, trying to refocus your mind from the kiss. “I was in a pretty dark place and…”

“You’re the best part of my life too,” he interjects. “You’re…everything to me.” Your heart swells at his words. It wasn’t much but it was all you needed to hear. You immediately pull him back into another kiss.

This time, neither of you hold back, allowing every ounce of your repressed feelings to come to the surface. Your dreams couldn’t even begin to compare to the way his touch set your skin on fire as his fingers grazed just below your shirt. He leans in closer, an attempt to lay you back on the bed. You let out a soft, pained gasp as you pull away from him.

“Easy,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath. His eyes widen immediately.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. You laugh lightly and shake your head.

“Give me a few weeks to heal up, then you can get carried away,” you tease. He smiles widely before resting his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says. You press your lips to his once again, softly. Despite the pain emanating from various places on your body, you’d call this moment perfect. You’d even go as far as to say it was…a dream come true.

The End

Thank you so much to everyone who has enjoyed the story!! I hope the ending was satisfying!! A special thanks to everyone below…

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