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notlongtolove · 3 days ago

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petals and frost

hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. an agent liaison from the nyc office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. a brief attachment, hotch had said. too bad spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst w no happy ending (sowie)

content: avoidant bau reader, non descriptive mentions of sex

word count: 2.8k words

note: written for @mggslover 1k event, congrats once again my love!!! yall can blame @esote-rika for that sadistic ending, i idea dumped that on her and said i didnt know if it wld be too angsty and she begged me to use it so... fuck yalls valentines ig (anyways spencer reid, just know that i, user notlongtolove, would neverrrr do that to you)

a line: You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again.

And some part of me came alive, the first time that you called me ‘baby’ The perfect genius of our hands and mouths. - Hozier, First Time

Hotch had called it a brief attachment—six months, no more. An agent liaison from the NYC office, sent down to smooth future communication, to streamline workflow. You were easy to like, easy to talk to, definitely easy on the eyes. A brief attachment, Hotch had said. The phrase seemed almost oxymoronic—Spencer hadn’t really remembered to keep it in mind.

As it turns out, there are a lot of other things Spencer forgets around you. When you twist your hair into a haphazard ponytail mid briefing, he forgets the third personality trait of a classified sociopath. You don’t. Interpersonal offensiveness, Reid. That’s criminology 101. Emily makes a comment under her breath about his IQ being slashed in half. If you do hear her, you pretend not to.

When you slide a beer across the table after your first case, he forgets that he doesn’t drink, masking a grimace as he takes a sip. You’re trying. He doesn’t want you to feel bad. By the time he’s on his second, his face is warm. Too fast, he tells himself. From the alcohol, definitely not from the way your thigh is pressed against his in the booth.

Later, when you’ve got him pinned against the wall under a dim lamppost kissing him breathless, he tries to forget the bureau’s policy on interoffice relationships. It’s after hours. You’re not really part of the team. You’re here contractually. A technicality. He can make an exception.

You run your hands through his hair tugging faintly and he decides he will make an exception.

The only thing Spencer doesn’t forget that night is the route from O’Keefe’s to his apartment though it’s a blur all the way from the cab to his apartment to his bed. He pulls you through his front door, fingers curled tight around your wrist. A tangle of limbs and lips pressed against lips feverishly, desperately—He’s certain he’s got that memorised.

“I’m not…” you start, voice faltering between kisses, searching for the right words that just aren’t coming when you’re straddling him and he’s looking at you the way that he is, “not looking for anything… serious.”

Alarm bells go off in his head blaring amidst the euphoric haze he’s in. It’s a warning he registers but doesn’t heed. Caution. Danger ahead. He tells himself that if he squints hard enough, that if he really really tries—It’s a challenge. And Spencer Reid has never backed down from a challenge.

So he bites. Takes the bait. Plays along.

“What makes you think I am?”

You smirk like you don’t believe him but your fingers move to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt anyways. He tries to laugh when you joke about how you should definitely apply for a permanent spot on the team now, but it sticks in his throat. He distracts himself by closing his eyes.

“Spencer,” you say breathlessly, “you sure about this, baby?”

His eyes snap open so fast it startles you, leaving you flustered, halfway to pulling back before his grip tightens at your waist, keeping you right where you are. His throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“W-what’d you just say?”

You blink back at him. “I asked if you’re sure about—”

“No, the—the other part. The last part.”

A pause. Then, deliberately, “Baby?”

Oh fuck.

“Y-yeah. That.” He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s bracing for impact. “Say it again. Please.”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth twitching like you’re holding back a laugh as you lean down to press slow, open-mouthed kisses down his bare chest, whispering against his skin, “whatever you want baby.” Spencer has to force his eyes shut again.

You mark him up in the shades of purple wildflowers. Spencer shivers at the sight of them. Theres not much talking when skin finally meets skin. Spencer’s starved, insatiable, burning hot and ice cold all at once. This okay, baby? Yes, yes, god, yes. Can I? Yes, please, please do. Sweat pools around your bodies and Spencer tries to forget how much he wants to remember this moment. The purple wildflowers bloom across his skin—deadnettle, henbit, african violets.

Oh, he thinks, this one’s gonna hurt, isn’t it?

When Spencer wakes the next morning, he’s only mildly afraid to open his eyes.

He’s never done this before—doesn’t know what to expect. But he knows enough to predict the possibilities. Regret. Yours, not his. Shame, embarrassment, maybe even anger. You’ll be gone. Nothing left behind but the imprint of your body on his sheets, marks of purple left in your wake.

Spencer Reid does not like not knowing.

So he braces himself, steels his nerves, and opens his eyes—only to be met with something far worse.

You.

Still here.

Curled up beside him, peaceful, angel deep in sleep, gut wrenchingly soft. In sleep, you’re nothing like how you are on the field. Out there, you’re a good shot, a great one, you think quick on your feet, you’re confident, never stuttering or stumbling like he does. You’re heaven on earth, right in his bed—He’s utterly ruined for it. He doesn’t know what possesses him to move closer, to let newfound confidence guide his arm around your waist. But he does. You stir, just barely, waking to the feeling of his lips pressed into your hair.

The morning melts into something else entirely. An abandoned attempt at breakfast in bed, clothes forgotten in a scattered trail from the kitchen counter to the couch. Unsanitary, he’d think, if he weren’t already too far gone to care. The boy’s insatiable once again, chasing a thirst only you seem to have awakened in him. It’s fiery and passionate as drinks you in, icy cold hisses when you nip at his neck. But you’re neither summer nor winter. You’re spring and the purple wildflowers on his skin are begging to be made yours, over and over again. The way your nails claw at his back, marks of sinful desire turning into ivy that grows to cover you both. It’s entirely all encompassing.

God, you have him in the palm of your hand and you don’t even know it.

Dancing around the team is its own kind of purgatory. Turtlenecks in sweltering Texas heat which you make up for with a fleeting kiss to his cheek in the break room when everyone else has their back turned. Spencer tells himself to keep his feelings in check, to keep his adoration at bay. But it’s hard to when you exist so seamlessly within the liminal spaces of the team. Always in Hotch’s good books. Cracking jokes just dirty enough to make Morgan laugh and Rossi raise a brow. Even JJ loves you.

Silently, Spencer thanks the BAU’s abysmal budget for the run-down motel they’ve stuck you in. It makes it that much easier to convince you to stay at his place—only for a night or two, maybe three, maybe four, eventually a Baby, Hotch is gonna call us in soon anyway, and the freeway near yours is a nightmare in the mornings. You might as well stay one more night. He seals with a look, a soft plea, and you cave every time.

5 months and a week is what you’ve built together. Your days are disgustingly domestic and Spencer just can’t seem to get enough. It’s not like the two of you go out much. Long days (and longer nights) in the field leave you both drained, running on fumes. Just enough energy left to call in takeout accompanied with something strong for you, water for him. Just enough left to trade lazy kisses between bites and fall into bed tangled together. This is it, isn’t it?

Waking to rushed mornings, shared showers, half-hearted protests when you insist on shampooing his hair for him. Bare feet on hardwood floors and the bumping of hips in the kitchen as he makes coffee for two. Rendezvous on a crappy motel mattress that creaks beneath the weight of both of you when you run out of clothes for the week. Baby, we shouldn’t really—swallowed by the press of lips.

Your laughter comes to him in little bursts of light. You’re his absolute heart in human form.

The purple wildflowers haven’t made an appearance in awhile but spring blooms in his chest all the same. When you inevitably drift off to the sound of his voice reading Spencer makes a mental note to bring The Iliad when he comes to visit. You’ll probably be done with Dante’s inferno by then. The weak fistful you have of his shirt tightens ever so slightly in your sleep and he knows what you want. He turns to shut off the light and fits himself against you, tucking you closer to his chest. Spencer tries to distract himself from the fact that you’re set to leave in a month. He’d drink dry the River Lethe to forget it if he could. Instead, in the quiet, he allows himself to think about what the weather will be when he gets the chance to visit you.

He’s always wanted to go to New York. He’s never been the best flyer and he doesn’t know how he’ll fare on a flight without the comfort of his team and the jet’s coffeemachine. It’ll have to make do, he thinks. It’s only a little over an hour’s flight. He tells himself it’s basically nothing. He can handle it. Besides, he can always make the eight hour drive, or the six hour train. The options are endless, much like his devotion to you—He’ll walk to you if he has to.

“Do you think you’ll have time for a trip when I come visit?” Spencer asks one night, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. You’re too busy fumbling with the buttons of his pants to catch the lovelorn grin tugging at his lips. “I know there’s probably a lot to see in New York, but I’ve been saving my days off. And if I catch Hotch on a good day, I think I could carve out a few more.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t know,” you murmur, distractedly, “I usually don’t get much time off when I’m back. Let me know if you are planning to come, though—I’d love to show you around for a day or two.”

The fuck?

Show him around? A day or two?

It’s frosty. Ice cold. A slow caress of his cheek at arms length. Cruel in the way that kindness can be. He tenses beneath you, shifting upright so suddenly that you blink up at him, confused.

“Everything okay, baby?”

The frown on his face indicates he’s anything but okay. “Yeah,” Spencer lies. “I just… I just thought—I mean, you knew I was planning to come visit, right?”

You hesitate. “Spence, we didn’t really discuss that, I—”

“I know we didn’t.” He tries to keep his frustration subtle, but it slips through when he runs a hand through his hair sharply. “But this? Us? How could I not?”

You try again, gentler this time. “Oh, baby, you don’t have to. I know you’re really busy, and—”

“I want to.”

The realisation settles slowly into your features. And then, quietly—naively—he lets himself ask, “Don’t you want me to?”

Silence.

Oh.

Somewhere deep inside him the ivy shrivels and the purple wildflowers wither. It appears that spring has come to a close.

“Spencer,” you say gravely, “I thought we talked about this—” He doesn’t hear the rest. It all dissolves into static, white noise humming in his skull. He hates that tone on you—the way it sounds so careful, so deliberate. Its how you talk to Hotch, to unsubs, to people that need to be managed. Never how you talk to him. Not how you talk to him when you share sly jokes and interlock pinkies at the back of the van, thighs touching when you share a blanket in the jet. Not how you talk when you whisper baby, stop, someones gonna see us when he insists on a chaste kiss to your nose and another to your forehead—Because how could he ever stop at one?

He blinks back into focus when you reach for his hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He should brace for the inevitable. He knows what’s coming, but he’s too far gone for it to matter, too far off the deep end for it to hurt now. What’s a stab to the heart when you make up for it with cotton-soft kisses and a feather light touch? I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t be sad. I wish I could stay too. Don’t be mad, okay? I don’t want you to be mad at me. As if he ever could be. Not when you’re kissing him the way that you are. Still, Spencer tries to tell himself that the wildflowers that bloom into rosettes beneath your touch are fragile things. He tries to carve it into his bones to remind himself that they won’t survive the winter of your absence.

It starts with the smallest frost, like soft snowflakes clinging to his lashes, signs he might have missed if he wasn’t already looking out for them. “Baby, you shouldn’t have,” you say when he comes home with a restock of your makeup remover. Spencer only shrugs, wordless. He knows you mean it. Not out of politeness, not out of gratitude, but because there won’t be any use for it soon.

Winter calls for shorter days, for less sunlight. It brings more cases, more exhaustion, more time spent apart. Nights where Spencer wakes up to an empty bed because you’d insisted on packing your suitcase, and insisted on doing it alone. As it turns out, the cold really does bite.

It all couldn’t happen fast enough.

Nobody bats an eye when Spencer insists on tagging along to drop you off at the airport. It’s practical, really—an extra set of hands. Even Morgan doesn’t say a word, doesn’t call him lover boy with that knowing smirk. Maybe he would’ve if Spencer didn’t already look like he was on the brink of death. Hotch keeps his goodbye brief, a quiet nod, a quick squeeze of your shoulder after he helps unload your suitcase from the van. He mumbles something about keeping in touch, about how the door’s always open.

Spencer is the one who walks you to your terminal. You walk briskly ahead of him, fingers curled loosely around the handle of your suitcase. You’d brushed off his offer to help—All the better because he has to shove his hands into the pockets of his coat just to keep them steady. He tries to count the steps between the check-in counter and security. All in all, both literally and ironically, too little too late.

This is finality, signed, sealed, delivered. The clock has run out. Spencer Reid is out of time. And, for once, Spencer Reid is out of words.

So, it’s you who takes his hand, pulling him closer. Drop me a call if you ever come visit okay? I will, I will. You’ll love it there. Take care. Call me whenever. This was amazing. You’re amazing. You’re so good. Too good. It’s you who tilts his chin and kisses him with such force he wants call it love. He would call it love. If you asked, he’d rip the wildflowers from his ribs and place them at your feet as proof disguised as an offering. You’re kissing like you’re trying to make him forget—where you both are, where you’re going, where he’s staying. You pull away, breathless, fingertips ghosting along his jaw when the intercom blares above you. He lets the last shreds of sunlight slip from his grasp when you walk through the gate. Spencer doesn’t stay to see if you turn back or not. He’s felt like an afterthought enough.

The van is quiet when he climbs in.

Spencer ignores Hotch’s glances, keeps his head down, busies himself with the air conditioning. Granted, he rarely sits shotgun, but still, today, it feels colder than usual.

“She’s a great agent.”

“She is. She… worked great in the team.” Spencer’s fingers tighten around the vent. He nods, swallows around the lump in his throat. “You should’ve offered her a spot.”

Hotch’s eyes stay set on the road. “I did. JJ and I drafted a two-year contract for her.”

Spencer scoffs bitterly, “yeah? I’m sure Strauss took that well.”

“Strauss had no issue with it.”

That makes Spencer pause. His head turns, brows pulling together. “Then?”

A beat of silence before Hotch exhales, “she rejected it.”

The world stops. His stomach drops first, then his chest. Fragile stems and violet petals turn brittle, cracking as the frost works its way through him. Tiny pieces of petals and frost splinter his being. A brief attachment, no doubt. He should’ve known better. He should’ve noticed the subtlest change in the winds, distractions cloaked in tender touches as wandering hands made their way beneath clothes, apologies in a baby, I wish I could stay too. He really should’ve remembered to forget you.

He feels the wildflowers inside him freeze over and with the gentlest shift of breath—They shatter.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader angst #lovers1kevent #criminal minds fanfiction

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bbdeongi · 2 days ago

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Blurry Words, Clear Feelings

☆PAIRING: Childhood Bsf! San x Fem! Reader

☆WARNINGS: Angst, fluff, fake friends, Y/N is drunk, pet names (Angel, Precious, Darling.), Suggestive at the end but not too much, friends to lovers au.

☆SUMMARY: your trust is shattered after discovering your so-called "friends have been using you. Drunk and upset, you turn to your best friend, San, who is there to comfort you.

☆WORD COUNT: 8.9k

☆A/N: AHH I'm so happy I finally completed this!! this is a request from @/atzlov-r. Thank you so much for waiting!! And this is the longest fic I've made.. jsjs

The night had started out innocently enough. You had gone out with your “friends,” hoping to have a good time and maybe forget the weight of everything you had been dealing with lately. It was supposed to be a fun night—laughter, drinks, music, and maybe some dancing. But as the night wore on, things started to feel... wrong. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it became undeniable. Your friends weren’t really friends. They were just people who took advantage of your kindness, of your willingness to buy drinks and keep everyone entertained.

When you overheard their conversation outside the restroom, you felt the sharp sting of betrayal. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks. “We can get her to buy us more drinks. Why not?” “She’s just so easy to manipulate. I mean, who else is going to pay for it?”

It hurt more than you expected, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion. You had spent so long trying to make them happy, trying to fit in and be liked. But they didn’t care about you—not at all.

Without thinking, you stormed back to the group, your chest tight with emotion. You wanted to scream at them, to make them feel what you were feeling, but all you could do was yell, your voice breaking as you confronted them.

“Why are you using me?!” you shouted, not caring who heard. “I’m not your personal ATM! You don’t even care about me!”

The group froze for a moment, clearly startled and shocked by your outburst. A few of them exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other, but none of them seemed to truly understand the weight of your words. One girl, the one who had been laughing the loudest earlier, rolled her eyes as if your outburst were just a minor inconvenience.

“You’re being dramatic, Y/N,” she said dismissively. “We’re just having fun, okay? Stop being so sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” You couldn’t help it. You scoff, Your voice grew louder, slurred from the alcohol but full of hurt. “You’ve been using me this whole fucking time! I’ve been buying drinks for all of you, running around, making sure everyone’s having a good time, and this is what I get in return? Being laughed at behind my back!?”

A couple of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces a mix of guilt and annoyance. But no one spoke up. No one apologized. They didn’t even try to make things right. The girl who had dismissed you earlier just shrugged and rolled her eyes once more.

“Look, it’s not a big deal. You’re overreacting,” she muttered, before turning away to chat with someone else. “You're acting childish, it's annoying, Y/N..”

That was it. That was the moment you knew you were done. You couldn’t stay here, not with these people. They weren’t worth your time, your energy, or your trust. With a shaky breath, you turned on your heel and walked away from the group, feeling the familiar sting of humiliation in your chest. You felt a tear roll down the side of your face. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care about them at all.

You made your way to the bar, pushing through the crowd. Your legs felt wobbly under you, but the anger and sadness kept you moving. You couldn’t stop now. You couldn’t go back to those people who you called your "friends". Instead, you just needed to drink. Forget about them. Forget about everything.

As you reached the bar counter, you barely noticed the bartender behind it. She was busy talking to another customer, her back turned for a moment. But you didn’t care. You were too focused on your own thoughts, and your own emotions. You needed another drink. You needed to drown the pain.

When the female finally turned to you, her eyes scanning your face, you gave her a small, tired smile. It felt forced, but you hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Can I get a... double whiskey?” you slurred as you wiped the tear off of your cheek, your voice thick with alcohol.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. She hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not she should serve you more alcohol. But then she shrugged and started to pour your drink.

“Here you go,” she said, sliding the glass toward you. You picked it up and took a long gulp, the burn of the whiskey doing little to dull the ache in your chest. It was numbing, but not nearly enough.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your drink again, ignoring the way your vision blurred. Maybe if you drowned yourself in enough alcohol, the pain would fade, the ache in your chest would disappear, and you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. You could just disappear in your own mind. Get away from the real world and the problems that come with it.

So you took another sip.

And another.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you ordered your next drink. But it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. One drink after another, until the female worker seemed to just be going through the motions. You didn’t even know how many drinks you had by then—five, six, seven? The alcohol was starting to take hold of you completely, your mind fuzzy and clouded, but you didn't give a shit. Your anger had turned into a numb, empty feeling, a void that seemed to swallow everything around you.

Every time you looked up, the same faces from your “friends” were still there, laughing and chatting. But none of them cared. They were just focused on themselves. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything except getting more drunk. "fucking selfish" you thought to yourself. that's what they were. Selfish assholes..

At this point, you barely noticed the bartender behind the counter. She had been watching you for a while, and as she made her way over, she seemed more concerned and worried than before. She stopped in front of you, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentler than before. "I think you’ve had enough."

You blinked up at her, trying to steady yourself. "M'fine," you slurred, though the way your body swayed slightly said otherwise.

“That’s enough drinks for now,” she said again, firmly, her tone almost maternal.

You blinked up at her, confused. “What?”

“I said, that’s enough,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’ve had more than enough drinks for tonight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got stuck. You didn’t want to listen to her. You didn’t want to hear anything right now. You just wanted to keep drinking, to forget everything that had happened, to forget how badly you had been used.

But the woman didn’t back down. She placed a hand on the counter and leaned in a little closer, her expression softer now, though still firm. A sigh fell from her lips as she looked at you with serious eyes..

“Listen,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “I don’t usually do this, but you’ve had too much. I know you’re upset, but drinking more isn’t going to help you. It’s just going to make things way worse.”

You looked up at her, eyes blurry and unfocused. You didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. The alcohol wasn’t helping. It was only making everything feel more intense, more painful. But still, you didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t handle everything that had happened. You didn’t know how to fix it.

“Do you have someone who cares about you?” she asked softly, her eyes locking with yours. “Someone you trust? Someone who’s there for you?”

You thought about it for a moment, the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts. But then the name came to you, like it always did.

“San,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “San...”

Her eyes softened. “That your boyfriend?”

You snorted, though it was weak. “No. My best friend.”

The bartender studied you for a long moment before exhaling through her nose. “Good. Because you need a real friend right now.” Then, before you could protest, she pulled out her phone. “Tell me his number.”

You frowned, the alcohol making your brain hazy. “Why?”

“Because, sweetheart, you’re drunk off your ass, and I’m not letting you go home with people who don’t give a damn about you.” The bartender gave you a soft, knowing look. “I think it’s time to call him. Let him help you.”

You nodded weakly, your heart sinking. You hadn’t wanted to rely on San, but now, it seemed like the only thing you could do. He had always been there for you, always been your rock. You just hoped he would be there for you now, after everything.

The bartender took your phone from your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m going to call him for you, okay?”

You didn’t have the strength to argue. You just sat there, letting her take the phone from your unsteady and shaking hands. She quickly found San’s name in your contacts and dialed the number, bringing the phone to her ear. You could barely make out the words when the phone picked up, but you could hear the familiar sound of San’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice sounding worried.

“Hi,” the bartender said. “This is a bartender at the club. Your friend is here, and she’s had a little too much to drink. She’s upset, and I think she could really use you right now. Can you come pick her up?”

There was a brief pause before San’s voice returned, sounding much more alert. “Y/N?.. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, but she’s drunk and needs you. I’m not letting her stay here like this. Can you come get her?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The bartender smiled softly and nodded at you. “He’s on his way.”

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you, like a weight lifting off your chest. San was coming. He would be there to help you. Everything would be okay. Everything will be just fine...

“Thank you,” you whispered to the bartender, your voice barely audible.

She gave you a warm smile. “It’s no problem. Just hang in there, okay, dear? He’ll be here soon.”

You nodded again, feeling your eyes grow heavy. It felt like everything was finally starting to calm down like the storm inside you was slowly fading. You just needed to wait a little longer. San would be here soon. And everything would be okay.

San was already halfway out the door before the bartender could even finish explaining.

“She’s drunk,” she had said through the phone, her voice low and concerned. “And those people she’s with? They don’t have her best interests in mind.”

That was all San needed to hear.

His chest tightened as the words echoed in his mind. He’d told you, warned you about those people before. But you hadn’t listened. You’d always been too trusting, too kind. You’d thought they were your friends—good friends. But now, he was seeing just how wrong you had been.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated the busy streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur. He knew you were strong. He knew you didn’t need anyone to protect you. But this—this was different. You were vulnerable. You were upset. You weren't in your normal headspace. And right now, you are alone in a crowded bar with people who don’t care about you.

The thought made his stomach churn.

San pushed open the heavy doors of the bar, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the night air. He scanned the room quickly, the crowd of people barely registering in his mind. His eyes locked onto you almost immediately.

There you were, slouched over the bar counter, your cheek resting against your folded arms, tears slowly rolling down your flushed face. Your fingers still loosely wrapped around the glass in front of you, the remnants of your drink barely visible. You looked so small, so fragile in that moment. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. You were hurting, and it killed him to see you like this.

His jaw tightened in frustration, and his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something. How could they have done this to you? he thought. How could they use you like that?

The bartender, noticing him standing there, waved him over. She was a tall woman, her demeanor calm but concerned. “You must be San,” she said, her tone even but with a hint of understanding.

San nodded quickly, his eyes never leaving you. “How bad is she?” His voice was tight, almost urgent. He was worried about you.

“She’s had too much,” the bartender replied, her gaze flickering to you before landing back on him. “And from what I overheard, she just found out those friends of hers aren’t really her friends. They’ve been using her, taking advantage of her.”

San’s heart sank at her words. He knew, deep down, that this was what had been happening all along. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way that hurt him more than he expected.

Shaking his head, San forced his emotions down. There wasn’t time to dwell on it now. He needed to focus on you. He crouched down next to you, his warm palm gently landing on your shoulder. His fingers brushed the fabric of your top as he tried to rouse you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred slightly, your head lifting just enough to blink at him through bleary eyes. Your gaze seemed unfocused for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the world around you. Then, recognition flickered in your eyes, and you managed to lift your hand, reaching out to touch his arm.

“S- sannie?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

San’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of his name slipping from your lips, but he didn’t let it show. He forced a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, it’s me,” he replied softly, fighting the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m here, angel. Let’s get you out of here.”

You let out a small hum of relief, your lips curling up in a small smile that made his heart ache. “I- I knew you’d come...” you mumbled, your voice thick with alcohol and sleepiness.

San’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the words. Of course he would come. He’d always come. But hearing you say it like that—so vulnerable, so trusting—made him want to protect you more than ever.

“Of course I came,” he said, his tone low, almost tender. He brushed another strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “You think I’d leave you like this?”

You pouted, your brows furrowing in that adorable way that always made him laugh. “No…” You sighed, your voice sleepy as your eyelids fluttered closed momentarily. “But I didn’t w- wanna bother you…”

San scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re never a bother to me.” His voice softened at the end, his words laced with an unspoken truth. He would never see you as a burden, never in a million years.

Before he could coax you to your feet, your body swayed slightly, and you slumped forward in a way that made his stomach lurch. His reflexes kicked in just in time as he reached out and steadied you, his arms catching your waist before you could fall off the stool.

“Alright, that’s it,” he muttered under his breath. His voice had a resigned tone to it, but he didn’t hesitate. He bent down, his strong arms sliding under your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up onto his back. “You’re not walking like this.”

A little squeak left your lips, and San couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. Your body felt light against his back, but the sensation was strangely comforting. It felt... right, in a way.

“Ohhh… piggyback ride!” you giggled, your voice slurring slightly as you rested your head against his shoulder.

San shook his head with a quiet laugh, securing his grip under your thighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his tone was fond, “Just hold on tight, alright?”

You hummed happily, your arms tightening slightly around his neck as you buried your face into the curve of his shoulder. “Y- yay! Piggggyybackk..!” San could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin, making his heart race just a little bit faster. He tried not to focus on it, on how perfect it felt to have you so close, so vulnerable in his arms.

He thanked the bartender, and she waved back. He was glad that a trustworthy person found you, and stayed by your side. Who knows what could've happened if you just stayed alone.

He adjusted his grip on you and started walking toward the exit, his pace steady and sure, despite the weight of you on his back. The whole situation felt surreal, it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. But as much as he wanted to stay in that moment, he knew there was still one more thing to deal with.

That’s when the rambling started.

“I’ve.. always thought you were sooo perfect,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Like.., San, you’re jus- so... so... pretty... And hot. God, you're so hot.”

San’s entire body froze, his eyes slightly widened, his breath catching in his throat. The words tumbled out of you, slurred and slow, but they hit him like a freight train. His heart skipped a beat as the weight of your drunken confession sunk in.

Did you just say that?

You didn’t seem to notice the effect your words were having on him. You just kept going, completely unaware of how much he was trying to keep himself together. He ignored you and continued walking. Maybe you didn't mean it. But you continued..

“You’re a- alwayyysss there for me.. Y'know? Always. And you’re so kind... and you’re strong... but like, in a... in a way tha's not too much, y'know?”

San’s chest tightened, and he let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, to tell you that you were just drunk and didn’t mean it. But another part of him—the part that had always cared for you, the part that had always been there for you—was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

You continued your rambling and yapping, completely unaware of the emotions racing through him. San’s thoughts were a whirlwind, his heart hammering in his chest as he focused on getting you to the car. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—dazed, uncertain, and maybe even a little afraid of what all of this meant.

But one thing was for sure: He would never let you go. Not now. Not ever...

You eventually reached his car. He opened the passenger's side and carefully set you down on the seat.. you groaned softly as you leaned back against the cushion. He reached over you and buckled your seatbelt in. He gently shut the door and walked over to the driver's side. He got in and buckled his seatbelt.. A sigh left his lips as he started the car, looking at you making sure you were okay.

San sighed as he maneuvered the car onto the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The neon streetlights cast long shadows on your face, highlighting the way your head wobbled slightly as you tried to sit upright. You stared out the window, your eyes following each pink and blue light.

The drive back home was quiet, except for the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional hiccup that escaped your lips. San's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he focused on the road, his gaze flickering over to you every now and then. You were still resting against his shoulder, your face still flushed from the alcohol.

Every time you hiccupped, a small giggle followed, making San's heartache in a way he didn’t expect. Your giggles were cute and carefree, but there was an edge to them—a tenderness that made him feel both protective and… something more.

You hiccupped suddenly, your whole body jolting from the force of it, and a sleepy giggle followed immediately after. “whoopsies,” you murmured, swaying a little as you leaned your head against the cool window. “’M’drunk…”

San huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, angel, I know.”

You turned your head to him, blinking a few times like it was hard to keep your eyes open. Your lips pushed into a small pout, and you let out a dramatic sigh. “But… but Sannie, just ’cause I’m drunk… doesn’t mean I’m lyin’,” you slurred, dragging out the last word as if it took effort to say.

San's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly. He could already tell where this was going. Though you didn't drink much and tried to avoid it, you always got like this when you were wasted—overly affectionate, a little too honest, and completely unaware of how much your words affected him.

"Y/N," he warned, glancing over at you, but you weren’t paying attention to his hesitance.

You suddenly gasped, sitting up straighter—though the movement made you wobble slightly. “Ohhh my God,” you drawled, eyes wide as if you had just come to some life-altering realization.

San arched a brow. “…What?”

“You’re jus’—” You hiccupped again, a giggle bubbling past your lips. “You’re jus’ so… perfect, Sannie.”

San inhaled sharply, his knuckles going white against the steering wheel.

Oh no.

He really needed to get you home before you started saying things he wouldn't be able to forget.

"You always take care of me," you mumbled, your head rolling slightly as you stared at him with big, unfocused eyes. "You're so… so nice. Like… sooo nice. The nicest person ever. Like, for real. I dunno what I’d do without you…”

San swallowed, keeping his gaze locked on the road. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice lower now, more controlled.

You ignored him completely, waving a hand in the air as if dismissing his words. "An’ you—" Another hiccup. "You have the best shoulders.”

San blinked.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He turned to you for a brief second, only to see you staring at him—your expression deadly serious.

“…What?”

“Your shoulders," you repeated, slurring slightly. "They're sooo big. Like… stupid big.” You reached out clumsily, your fingers poking at his upper arm before sliding up to pat his shoulder as if testing its size.

San clenched his jaw. “Precious, keep your hands to yourself,” he muttered. He secretly liked how clingy and touchy you were, but he had to keep you grounded at this moment.

But you only pouted, retracting your hand with an exaggerated sigh. “Jus’ sayin’,” you mumbled under your breath, slumping back against the seat. “S’not my fault you got shoulders like a… like a…” You trailed off, blinking in thought. Then your face lit up.

"Like a mountain!" you announced loudly with a stupid smile on your face.

San let out a long, exhausted sigh. “A mountain..?”

"Yeahhh," you giggled, wiggling a bit in your seat. "Like, if I ever got lost, I think I’d be able to find you, ‘cause your shoulders are like… like a landmark.”

San pressed his lips together, fighting back his blush, but he couldn't help it. You were a mess. A completely ridiculous, drunk mess. And you had no idea how close he was to losing his mind over you.

You hiccupped again and let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh, why’re you so pretty, Sannie?”

San stiffened.

Oh, no. He was not having this conversation with you right now.

"You’re jus’ so pretty," you slurred, batting your eyelashes, blinking at him in awe. "Like, it’s not fair… your face is so—so nice, and your eyes—Sannie, your eyes—" You turned to him with an exaggerated, pouty frown. “They're so brown.”

San let out a strangled noise. “I mean… yeah? That’s kinda how eyes work, Y/N.”

You huffed, clearly unsatisfied with his response. “Nooo, but your eyes are like, warm brown. Like… melted chocolate. Or… or a sunset, if a sunset was brown—wait, no, that doesn’t make sense…”

San squeezed his eyes shut briefly, inhaling deeply before forcing himself to focus on the road.

"You really need to sleep," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

"But I’m not tired!" you protested, even as your head wobbled dangerously close to the window.

San scoffed. “Yeah? Then why are you slurring all your words?”

You blinked lazily at him before shrugging. “M’just… relaxed…”

San shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Precious," he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "You're really drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying. You’re not sober, Y/N."

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head—though the movement made you wobble even more. “Well…” You hiccupped again, pressing your palm against your face as if trying to steady yourself. “I’m sober ’nuff to know I mean it.”

San’s breath hitched, his heart stalling for just a second.

He knew you were drunk. He knew that. But there was something in the way you said it—something that made it feel too real.

You smiled, clearly pleased with his response. But then, a moment later, your face softened, and you sighed, resting your cheek against the window. “Sannie…”

San hummed in acknowledgment.

"You’re my favorite person," you murmured, your voice softer now, sleepier.

San's fingers twitched against the wheel.

His throat felt tight. He knew you were drunk, knew you probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning. But damn it… it still made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“…You’re mine too, angel,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You made a content little noise, eyes fluttering shut. “Good,” you mumbled. “M’glad.”

San swallowed thickly, stealing one last glance at you before refocusing on the road.

Yeah, he thought, me too.

San exhaled as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, the tension in his shoulders finally easing just a little.

The entire ride had been filled with your drunken rambling, your words a mixture of heartfelt confessions and ridiculous observations about his mountain-like shoulders. He had tried his best to ignore the way his face heated every time you sighed about how “safe” and “solid” he felt, but it wasn’t easy when your voice was so soft and full of admiration.

But now, as he parked the car and glanced over at you, he noticed you had sobered up—just a little. Your eyelids were still heavy, and you swayed slightly when you moved, but your words weren’t as slurred anymore. The giggles had quieted, and instead of the drunken daze from before, there was something else lingering in your gaze—something softer.

San sighed and stepped out of the car before making his way to your side, opening the door and crouching down slightly.

“Alright, darling,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Up we go.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he slid an arm under your legs and lifted you onto his back again.

A small gasp left your lips at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. If anything, you melted against him, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders, your cheek pressing against the back of his neck.

“You do this too much,” you murmured, voice still laced with exhaustion.

San huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting his hold under your thighs. “You keep getting yourself into situations where I have to.”

You made a tiny noise—a whine in protest, but the warmth of his back was too comforting for you to argue. Instead, you relaxed, letting him carry you toward the building.

The moment he stepped into his apartment, a familiar sense of calm washed over him. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across the walls, and the faint scent of vanilla from his candles still lingered in the air. He didn't have time to blow them out since he was so focused on getting to you and bringing you back here.

He walked straight to his bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand cast a dimly lit glow, the curtains covering the night sky.. He gently set you down on his bed before stepping back and looking at your tiny self. He couldn't deny how cute you looked.

“You need to change,” he said, already moving toward his dresser. “I’ll grab something comfortable—”

“San.” Your voice stopped him in his tracks.

His fingers froze just before touching the drawer handle, and he turned to look at you, expecting to see your usual sleepy, drunken expression.

But you weren’t just drunk anymore. You were looking at him with clarity.

“I mean it when I say I like you.”

San felt the air leave his lungs.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just stood there, his entire body frozen as your words echoed in his mind.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were serious.

“I’ve meant it for a long time,” you continued, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you. “And I know you think I don’t know what I’m saying because I had too much to drink tonight, but San, I swear, I know.”

San swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart from completely spiraling out of control.

“Darling…” His voice was careful, hesitant. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You frowned, frustration flickering in your eyes. “I know that,” you muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

San inhaled sharply, his grip tightening at his sides. He could feel how much you meant it. He could see it in the way you were looking at him.

And that terrified him. Because for years, he had told himself this would never happen.

For years, he had buried everything, convinced that his feelings for you were one-sided, that you only saw him as a friend, that he had no right to want more.

And now here you were, sitting on his bed, looking at him like he was your entire world.

“I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret saying this,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brows furrowed, and you pushed yourself up slightly, propping yourself on your hands. “Why do you always do that?”

San blinked. “Do what?”

“Doubt yourself,” you said, shaking your head. “Doubt me.”

San’s chest ached at the frustration in your voice.

“It’s not that,” he murmured. “I just don’t want you to—”

“Regret it?” you finished for him. “San, I won’t.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because if he did—if he let himself believe you—he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back anymore.

You stared at him for a long moment, your breath uneven. Then, suddenly, your jaw clenched, and before he could react, you reached forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him toward you.

And then you kissed him.

San froze.

Your lips were warm, soft, and desperate—like you were trying to prove something to him. His brain short-circuited.

For years, he had imagined this. Wanted this.

But nothing could have prepared him for what it actually felt like.

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly, as if you were afraid he’d pull away. But God, he had no intention of doing that. Not when you were kissing him like this.

His hesitation cracked.

San exhaled sharply through his nose before he finally—finally—moved.

His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly close as he kissed you back, his movements slow but deep. He could taste the faint remnants of alcohol on your lips, but beneath that, he could taste you. And it was intoxicating.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and San let out a quiet groan against your lips. His head was spinning, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

This wasn’t just some drunken mistake. This was everything.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was uneven, your lips slightly swollen. Your eyes met his, and there it was again—that look. The one that made his entire world shift.

“Still don’t believe me?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

San swallowed hard, his hands still resting on your waist.

“I believe you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

And just like that, he was done for.

Your breath was still uneven when you leaned back slightly, eyes searching his face. San was still so close, his hands resting on your waist, his lips barely parted as if he was still trying to process what had just happened.

And maybe you should have stopped there—let the moment settle, let him breathe.

But you didn’t want to. Because for years, you had wanted this.

And now that you had him here, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, you weren’t about to let him run away from this.

So you kissed him again. This time, there was no hesitation.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in as your lips pressed firmly against his.

San inhaled sharply through his nose, his entire body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away.

No—he kissed you back.

And this time, there was no careful restraint.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent heat rushing down your spine. It was slow but deep, each movement drawing you closer, making your head spin.

His warmth, his scent, the way his hands held you like he was afraid to let go—it was all consuming.

You felt weightless. Dizzy. Desperate.

A soft, needy sound escaped your lips, and that was when it happened—San froze.

His lips stilled against yours, his entire body stiffening before he abruptly pulled away, breath heavy.

Your brows furrowed. “San—?”

His hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened, as if he was forcing himself to let go. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, but beneath that, there was something else—a storm of emotions he was clearly struggling to keep under control.

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before he quickly looked away, exhaling sharply.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice low but strained. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You pouted at that, lips still tingling from the way he had kissed you just moments ago. “I told you—I know what I’m saying.”

San shook his head, his hands slipping from your waist, though it looked like it physically pained him to do so. “I don’t wanna lose control.”

You swallowed, heart pounding. Lose control.

You weren’t naive. You could feel what that kiss had done to him. You could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, in the way his fingers curled slightly like he was restraining himself from pulling you back in.

And it thrilled you.

Because you had done that to him.

You had never seen him like this before—so close to unraveling, yet still fighting to hold himself back for your sake.

Your frustration grew. “San,” you whispered, reaching for his hand. “I want this.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

“I want you.”

His fingers twitched under yours. God, he was fighting so hard. And you were determined to break him.

San barely had a second to react before you grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him down onto the bed with you. He let out a startled grunt as his back hit the mattress, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you as you climbed onto his lap.

“Angel—”

You cut him off with another kiss, this one messier, more desperate. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss, pouring every bit of emotion you had into it.

San groaned against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as his self-control slipped further. You could feel the way his heart pounded beneath your touch, the way his breath hitched every time your hips shifted against his.

You knew he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

And you were determined to make him lose that last shred of restraint.

You trailed your lips away from his, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. San sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Y/N…” His voice was a warning, but it was weak—shaky.

You smirked against his skin. “What is it, Sannie?”

A curse slipped from his lips as your teeth grazed against his pulse point, followed by a sharp inhale when you sucked gently, leaving a mark behind.

You felt him tense beneath you, his grip on you almost bruising now.

“Precious, you’re playing with fire,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You hummed against his skin, trailing another kiss lower. “Maybe I want to get burned.”

San’s breath stuttered, and for a second, you thought he might finally give in.

His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. His nails scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

But then—he exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut before gripping your waist and flipping you onto your back in one swift motion.

A gasp left your lips as he hovered over you, his breath coming in uneven pants. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of frustration and want swirling in them.

“Angel,” he said, voice lower than before, “I swear to God…”

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Swear what?”

San clenched his jaw. His thumb traced slow circles against your hip, his other hand braced beside your head, keeping himself from completely pressing against you.

“That if you weren’t still a little drunk, I’d show you exactly how much I want you.” His words were a low murmur, his lips just inches from yours.

But you didn’t stop. Instead, you pressed another kiss just below his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin before you sucked lightly, determined to leave a mark. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest, and you smirked against his skin, feeling victorious.

“You don’t fight fair,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of the shirt you wore.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes heavy with desire. “Then stop fighting.”

Something in San snapped.

His grip on you tightened, and in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, his body pressing firmly against yours. His lips crashed onto yours, no longer gentle—this was different, raw and filled with need.

A gasp escaped you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His hands roamed your body, mapping out every curve, every inch of you that he had wanted for so long.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You grinned, breathless. “Good.”

He let out a low chuckle, but it was cut off when you tugged him down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him harder, more desperately. His weight pressed you into the mattress, and you arched against him, wanting to be impossibly closer.

San’s lips trailed down your jaw, then your neck, his teeth grazing over the marks you had left on him just moments before. “You like marking me up, huh?” he muttered against your skin.

You hummed, threading your fingers through his hair. “You look good like this.”

His lips curled into a smirk, and then, without warning, he nipped at your pulse point, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he continued his assault on your neck, pressing kisses, sucking lightly, then soothing each mark with his tongue. Your skin burned under his touch, your whole body alive with electricity.

“Sannie…” You whimpered, rolling your hips against him.

San groaned, his hands gripping your thighs to still your movements. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he breathed heavily, trying to steady himself.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice thick with want.

You grinned against his temple, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then what are you gonna do about it?”

San lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, in one swift motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“I guess,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours, “I’ll just have to teach you a lesson.”

And then he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier—no more hesitation. No more holding back.

But just as you thought you were about to get what you wanted, San exhaled a heavy breath, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. His hands still hovered at the edge of your dress, not yet moving, as though trying to find the strength to hold back.

You heard him murmur, barely above a whisper, “Tomorrow.” He said. He was serious this time. He wasn't about to let you win this battle, nor his mind.

You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his face. The words hit you harder than you expected, like a punch to the chest. You couldn’t believe it. After everything that had built up, after the heat between you both, he was pulling away.

"Tomorrow?" you repeated, voice tinged with disbelief and frustration. You pouted a bit, but it didn't work on him.

San’s lips curled into a soft, apologetic smile, though there was something gentle in his expression, a softness that you didn’t expect. “Yeah, tomorrow,” he repeated, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

“But San…” you whined, a hint of desperation in your voice. “I don’t want to wait… I want this now.” You tried giving him those puppy eyes, and as much as they always worked, not this time...

His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs gently brushing over your skin. “I know you do, love,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “But tonight isn’t the night. You’re still a little drunk, and I’m not gonna take advantage of you. Not like this.”

You pouted, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment flood through you. You had wanted him so badly, wanted to feel the warmth of his touch without hesitation. But even as you felt that desire stir within you, there was something in his gaze that made you pause.

San wasn’t doing this out of indifference. He was doing it because he cared, because he wanted to make sure that when this moment came, it would be right for both of you. And for that reason, you could almost forgive him.

“I’m not that drunk,” you muttered trying to convince him once more, your voice still soft, though the pout on your lips remained.

San chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know, darling. But tomorrow, when you’re sober, it’ll mean more.”

A whimper escaped you, and you looked up at him, eyes pleading. “But I want you now… please, San…”

He smiled, a mixture of tenderness and determination in his gaze. “Patience, baby. Tomorrow, I promise. But tonight, let’s just be here together. No rushing. Just… us.”

You huffed, exasperated, but the soft affection in his voice settled the rest of your emotions. You weren’t quite ready to let go of the heat between you, but you knew—deep down—that San was right. This wasn’t about just tonight. It was about something more, something deeper than the rush of desire.

“Fine,” you sighed, leaning back against the headboard as you looked up at him. “Tomorrow, then.” You knew you couldn't fight back anymore.

San gave you a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice quiet and soothing. “Get some sleep now. We’ll take our time tomorrow, I promise.

You huffed again, but there was no real bite to it. Despite your disappointment, you knew he was right.

San stood, his expression softening as he looked down at you, still lying in his bed, a little dejected and pouty from the earlier conversation. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading toward the closet to grab a change of clothes for you.

He returned with his favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of his boxers, the fabric soft and worn from the many times he’d worn them. As he approached the bed, you sat up slowly, still in your dress, feeling the weight of the night beginning to sink in. You had tried so hard to push the thoughts from your mind, but they kept resurfacing, like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. The truth of what had happened—how your "friends" had used you, manipulated your kindness—seemed so much more painful now that the haze of alcohol was starting to lift.

You tried to keep your composure, but the sting in your chest was undeniable. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your dress as you glanced up at San, who was kneeling beside you, his face soft with concern. He gently placed the clothes in your lap, but before you could respond, the emotions you’d been holding back all night began to swell up again. You swallowed thickly, trying to hold back the tears, but they were already threatening to spill over. You let out a tiny whimper.

“Hey,” San said, his voice soft but steady. He reached out to touch your shoulder, his fingers warm against your skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it.”

You shook your head, fighting to keep it together. “I just… I don’t know why they’d do that to me,” you muttered, the words feeling heavy in your throat. “I thought they were my friends, but it turns out they only wanted me around for drinks, for the fun. They didn’t care about me at all.”

San’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly helped you out of your dress, his hands gentle, as if trying to keep you from falling apart. You were gorgeous he thought. You were so beautiful. Sometimes he thought why didn't you have a boyfriend.. But now he had a chance. You loved him and he loved you.

Every movement, every brush of his fingers against your skin felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the storm swirling inside your chest. But the hurt was still there, gnawing at you, and the tears couldn’t be stopped.

Once you were dressed in his oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers, you climbed into his bed, curling up beneath the covers. The warmth of the fabric, the scent of him all around you, should’ve made you feel better—but it didn’t. Not yet.

San followed you into the bed, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. You nestled against his chest, trying to find solace in his warmth, but your mind refused to let go of the images from earlier. How your "friends" had abandoned you, laughed about you behind your back, and used you when it suited them. You had trusted them. You had believed in them. But it had all been a lie.

“I don’t get it, San,” you whispered, the tears falling freely now. “I don’t get why they’d do that. Why didn’t they just tell me? Why didn’t they treat me like I mattered?” You felt a tear run down your face.

San’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice cracking, and he pulled you in even closer as if trying to shield you from the world and everything that had hurt you. He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to cry, to release the pain that had built up in you for so long. It wasn’t about the drinks, the party—it was about the betrayal. It was about realizing that the people you had opened your heart to had never truly cared.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” San finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “You cared. You trusted. That’s not a mistake.”

“But they… they used me, San,” you choked out, your words shaking. "They were never my friends.”

“They never deserved your friendship,” he said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “You were always just too good to them. You didn’t deserve that, Y/N. Not from anyone.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes, but the hurt wasn’t going away. It felt like a weight on your chest that was too heavy to bear. You felt exposed—vulnerable. You had always tried so hard to be there for people, but in the end, they had all just taken what they could get and left you empty.

“But why did I have to find out this way?” you asked, your voice soft and broken. “Why couldn’t they just be honest with me from the start?”

San’s arms tightened around you again, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “Because people who don’t know how to appreciate what they have, they always take. And when they take everything, they leave you with nothing.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. The anger was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. It was more of a dull ache now. The betrayal was fresh, and it still hurt—but somehow, with San holding you, with him comforting you, it didn’t seem as insurmountable. He made you feel like maybe things could be okay again, eventually.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” San whispered, his voice full of a tenderness you weren’t used to hearing. “Not anymore. You’ve got me, Y/N. You’ve always had me.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your teary eyes meeting his. There was so much unspoken in the air, so many things left unsaid, but somehow, the silence between you both felt like an unbreakable bond. The pain, the rawness—it was still there, but there was also something else.

Something deeper.

“You’re the only one who’s ever really been there for me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you met his gaze. “I don’t want to lose you, San. Please don’t let me go. I… I need you.” You whimper out.

San’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the fresh tear that had fallen. His gaze softened, but there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. He took a slow, steady breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t ever have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt a little comforted by his words, but the storm inside of you wasn’t quite over yet. As you closed your eyes and leaned into him once more, the weight of everything that had happened—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger—still lingered like an invisible cloud. It wasn’t gone. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, it was hard not to wonder…

San’s hand stroked your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. “I’ll be here with you. No matter what happens, I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion beginning to catch up with you. It wasn’t just physical fatigue—it was emotional, the weight of everything you had experienced tonight. And yet, despite it all, you felt a sense of peace settle over you as you allowed yourself to let go of the fear, just for a moment.

“I love you, Choi San..”

“I love you too, my perfect angel...”

As San tucked you into his side, he gave you a kiss on your forehead and then a peck on your lips., your mind wandered back to earlier—to the betrayal, to the hurt, to the people who had never deserved your trust. But now, lying next to him, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself trust again...

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andy-15-07 · 10 hours ago

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Hii! Could you please write a pedro x reader on their first date? How nervous he is? Maybe the reader is his sister's friend's and she set them up on a blind date because she knew Pedro felt something for the reader, he's scared she wouldn't love him back. Reader thinks she's seeing Pedro's sister for dinner and so does Pedro but once at the restaurant they meet.

Maybe his sister will seat a few tables far from them to keep an eye on them realizing how happy Pedro looks around the reader

Blind Date

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 3568| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It started as an ordinary evening for Pedro, yet one that felt strangely electric from the very beginning. Standing outside a modest but charming restaurant in the heart of the city, Pedro’s heart was pounding as if it wanted to leap out of his chest. He tugged at the collar of his shirt for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to steady his nerves. Tonight, he was expecting to meet his sister for dinner—a casual get-together arranged by her. But as he fumbled with the door, he couldn’t help but feel that fate had something else in store.

A few minutes later, the restaurant door swung open, and Y/N walked in. Pedro’s breath caught in his throat. She looked radiant, her smile both warm and inviting. For a split second, he forgot all his nervous energy. Y/N, too, scanned the room, expecting to see the familiar face of Pedro’s sister. Instead, her eyes met his. Confusion danced in her gaze.

“Pedro?” she asked softly, a mix of surprise and amusement in her tone. “I thought I was meeting your sister.”

Pedro managed a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I was expecting her, too. Seems we’re both in for a surprise tonight.”

Their laughter mingled in the cozy atmosphere as a waiter led them to a small, intimate table near a window. Little did they know, a few tables away, Pedro’s sister had positioned herself perfectly, a discreet observer with a proud, knowing smile. Her eyes sparkled as she watched the first sparks between them—an outcome she’d orchestrated with gentle meddling over the past few days.

Once seated, the conversation started slowly, each of them testing the waters of this unexpected encounter. Pedro began hesitantly, “So, Y/N, how have you been lately? I never imagined a dinner planned as a casual catch-up would turn into… this.”

Y/N’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “I honestly thought I was just meeting your sister for a friendly dinner. But I have to say, sitting here with you is a pleasant shock.” She leaned in slightly, her tone teasing. “You’ve heard the stories about me, right? The ones that make me sound like some adventure seeker?”

Pedro grinned, his earlier tension easing as he found his voice. “Well, I might have heard a few tall tales. But tonight, I want to learn the real you. And if you’re as captivating in person as you are in those stories… then I’m in trouble.” His hand moved to gesture passionately, and for a moment, his fingers brushed hers. The contact was fleeting but electric, sending a ripple of warmth through both of them.

As the evening progressed, the conversation deepened. They talked about everything from their favorite movies to the little quirks that made them who they were. Every so often, they found themselves laughing so hard that the rest of the room seemed to disappear. Pedro admitted quietly, “I’m not usually this nervous. I’ve always been confident in my work, in front of cameras, but when it comes to matters of the heart… I freeze.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes softening with understanding. “I get that. I’ve been hurt before, and sometimes I build walls. But sometimes, a moment comes along and you realize that you’re willing to take a risk, no matter how scary it might be.”

Their dialogue was filled with both laughter and moments of quiet vulnerability. The soft music in the background and the gentle clink of glasses created a cocoon around them, making every word feel intimate. As they exchanged playful banter, Pedro’s hand slowly inched toward hers again, and this time, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she intertwined her fingers with his, a small but significant act of trust and hope.

“Y/N,” Pedro murmured, his voice low as he leaned in closer, “I have to confess—I’ve been harboring feelings I didn’t even know how to name until tonight. I’m terrified that if you don’t feel the same, I’ll lose a chance at something real. But I can’t ignore this pull I feel when I’m with you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly as she searched his face, as if trying to read the sincerity in his gaze. “Pedro, I—I never expected this. Honestly, I was under the impression I’d be dining with your sister, but sometimes, the most unexpected moments turn out to be the best ones. I feel something too… something I can’t quite put into words.”

A pause fell over them as they both absorbed the weight of his admission. Outside, a light rain began to fall, the soft patter on the window adding a rhythmic cadence to their confessions. The restaurant’s ambiance transformed into a cocoon of gentle intimacy, and it wasn’t long before the conversation shifted from words to actions.

As dessert was served—a rich, decadent chocolate cake—their flirtatious banter grew bolder. Y/N laughed softly when Pedro joked, “I think I need another piece of dessert, not just because the cake is incredible, but because your company is absolutely irresistible.” Her laughter was musical, and Pedro couldn’t help but reach out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

“Do you always charm people this effortlessly, Pedro?” she teased, her tone light yet charged with something more profound.

“Only when I’m with someone who inspires me,” he replied, his eyes locked on hers. Their gazes held a silent promise, and the space between them seemed to shrink until their hands rested side by side on the table, warm and reassuring.

At that moment, Pedro’s sister glanced over from her table, a quiet smile playing on her lips. She knew that every nerve-wracked moment, every hesitant touch, was leading to something beautiful. Even though she was miles away emotionally from their growing intimacy, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her brother, who had finally allowed himself to be vulnerable.

“Y/N,” Pedro said, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned closer, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve spent so long wondering if I’d ever find someone who sees the real me—the person behind the public façade. Tonight, you’ve made me feel… free.”

“Pedro,” Y/N responded, her hand squeezing his gently, “I feel the same way. I’m scared, sure—scared of getting hurt again—but I’m also excited by what this could mean. Tonight feels like the start of something that might just change both our lives.”

Their conversation was punctuated by long pauses filled with shared glances and soft smiles. The tension between them grew palpable, the air thick with the promise of more than just words. Pedro’s gaze dropped to her lips, and without thinking, he leaned forward. Their lips met in a kiss that was both tentative and fierce—a collision of pent-up emotions and the joy of finally being understood.

The kiss deepened as if time had slowed. Y/N’s hands slid up to rest on Pedro’s shoulders while his fingers caressed the side of her face, drawing her closer. The restaurant, the mistaken expectations, the night’s surprises—all faded into the background. All that remained was the fierce, undeniable connection between them. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together in a tender, shared moment.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” Pedro murmured, his voice raw with emotion. “I was so scared you wouldn’t feel the same. But now, I can’t imagine not exploring this with you.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with sincerity as she replied, “I never thought a blind date would turn into something so incredible. I’m willing to take this risk, Pedro—if you are.”

With a shy smile and a newfound sense of daring, Pedro suggested they take a walk outside. “There’s a small park nearby—quiet and beautiful. I think it’s the perfect place to talk some more… and maybe steal a few more kisses under the stars.”

Hand in hand, they left the restaurant and stepped out into the cool, refreshing night. The gentle sound of rain had given way to a clear, starry sky, and as they walked along the lamp-lit path toward the park, their conversation turned from lighthearted to deeply personal. They shared stories of past heartaches, childhood dreams, and the little moments that had led them to this very moment. Every word was punctuated with laughter, thoughtful pauses, and touches that sent shivers down their spines.

“Have you ever felt like you’re just waiting for the right moment to come along?” Y/N asked as they strolled past a row of trees draped in the soft glow of street lamps.

Pedro nodded, his expression serious. “I always thought the right moment would never arrive until I stopped trying so hard. Tonight, though, with you by my side, I feel like I finally understand what it means to be truly alive.”

They reached a quiet clearing near a small fountain, the sound of trickling water blending with their soft conversation. Pedro paused and turned to face Y/N fully. “Y/N, I have to be honest—I've always been so afraid of rejection, of not being enough. But when I'm with you, I feel like I can be vulnerable. I can be real.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she stepped closer. “Pedro, I understand that fear. I’ve worn my own armor for so long that letting someone in seemed like risking everything. But sometimes, the most beautiful moments come from those very risks.”

Their eyes locked in a silent dialogue, the honesty in Pedro’s admission resonating with Y/N’s own guarded hopes. The air between them seemed charged, and as if on cue, Pedro reached out and brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I need you to know that I’m willing to risk it all—if you are.”

Y/N smiled softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m ready, Pedro. I want to see where this leads us—no matter how scary it might be.”

Their words hung in the air as Pedro slowly leaned in once more. This time, the kiss was slow and deliberate—a reaffirmation of their commitment to explore every moment, every spark of passion that had ignited between them. Y/N’s fingers threaded through his hair, and he, in turn, held her tightly, as if trying to imprint this moment into memory. The intensity of their connection grew as their kisses deepened, each touch speaking of trust, desire, and the promise of something enduring.

After a while, they broke apart to catch their breath, both smiling at the raw honesty of the moment. Pedro’s eyes danced with a mixture of relief and longing. “I can’t believe how natural this feels. I’ve always imagined love as a series of scripted scenes—but this, this is the best kind of unscripted magic.”

Y/N laughed softly, wiping a stray tear of joy from her cheek. “Sometimes the best things in life are the unexpected ones, Pedro. I never expected tonight to turn out like this, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They resumed their walk, the park enveloping them in a quiet intimacy. With each step, they discovered new facets of each other—stories of past adventures, dreams of future possibilities, and moments of vulnerability that only served to strengthen their bond. As the night deepened and the park grew quieter, they found a secluded bench beneath a canopy of trees. There, beneath the soft light of a flickering lamp, Pedro pulled Y/N into a close embrace, whispering, “I’ve been so scared for so long, but with you, I feel brave enough to face anything.”

Y/N nestled closer, her head resting on his shoulder. “Pedro, I’ve always believed that true connection is worth any risk. Tonight, you’ve shown me that vulnerability can be beautiful—and that love, when it comes unexpectedly, is the best kind of adventure.”

They sat together for what felt like hours, the night holding them in its tender embrace. When it was finally time to part ways, the reluctance in their goodbyes was palpable. At Y/N’s door, standing in the dim light, Pedro’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for hers one last time. “I don’t want this night to end, Y/N. I want every moment with you to be as magical as tonight.”

Y/N’s eyes shone with unsaid promises as she replied, “Neither do I, Pedro. I want to keep exploring this connection, to see where every unexpected twist takes us.”

Their final kiss at her doorstep was slow, lingering, and full of hope—an unspoken vow to return to one another again and again. The night had been a tapestry of surprises and bold actions—a reminder that sometimes, the best love stories begin with a little chaos and a lot of courage.

The next day, the echoes of their magical night lingered in every text message and phone call. Pedro’s sister, always quietly watching from the sidelines, sent a playful note to both of them: “So happy to see that your ‘sister’s dinner’ turned out to be so much more. I knew you two had it in you!” Her message brought a smile to Pedro’s face and a blush to Y/N’s cheeks, sealing the memory as something fated.

Over the following weeks, every encounter was infused with the passion and playfulness of that first night. On a crisp autumn afternoon, Pedro invited Y/N for a walk in the park where golden leaves danced in the wind. Their conversation was a blend of teasing remarks and deep confessions.

“I still can’t get over the fact that we thought we were meeting my sister,” Y/N mused as they walked along a path carpeted with fallen leaves. “I mean, look at us now—laughing like old friends and stealing moments that feel too perfect to be true.”

Pedro squeezed her hand gently. “Life is full of surprises. I once thought I had everything figured out, but tonight taught me that the best plans are the ones you never planned at all. I’m so glad I took that leap.”

They found a quiet spot by a small pond, the water shimmering under the late afternoon sun. Sitting side by side on the grass, Pedro recounted stories from his travels and early days in the spotlight—stories that revealed a man behind the public persona. Y/N listened intently, occasionally interrupting with a laugh or a teasing comment. Each word built a bridge between them, a deeper understanding that went beyond surface charm.

“Do you remember when I told you I was afraid of not being enough?” Pedro asked quietly, gazing at the ripples on the water. “Well, every time I see you, I feel like maybe I don’t have to be perfect. I can just be me.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she turned to him with genuine warmth. “Pedro, you don’t need to be anyone but yourself. I love the way you’re passionate, the way you care, and yes—even the little quirks that make you so uniquely you. I’ve been holding onto this feeling ever since that first night, and every day it grows a little more.”

Their conversation was filled with laughter, playful teasing, and moments of profound honesty. With every word and every touch, the distance between them shrank until it was nothing more than a shared heartbeat.

That evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of twilight, Pedro invited Y/N to his apartment for a quiet dinner. The space was cozy, filled with soft music and the aroma of a meal Pedro had prepared with care. They sat on a plush couch, a single candle flickering between them, and continued their conversation as if time had slowed down just for them.

“I’ve never felt so at home with someone,” Pedro said, his voice low and sincere. “With you, everything feels right—like every worry, every fear, just melts away.”

Y/N reached up and caressed his cheek tenderly. “Pedro, you make me feel safe. I’ve always been so guarded, but you’ve shown me that vulnerability isn’t something to fear—it’s something that brings us closer.”

Their dialogue became a mix of laughter, soft confessions, and moments of undeniable passion. Pedro’s hand moved from her cheek to the small of her back as he drew her closer. Their kisses grew bolder, each one more fervent than the last, a celebration of the spark that had been ignited from that first fateful encounter.

In the quiet intimacy of that apartment, they discovered more about each other—more than just dreams and fears, but the physical language of love that needed no words. Y/N’s laughter, the way her eyes lit up when Pedro whispered something tender, and the spark in their every embrace confirmed what they both felt deep down: this was the start of something extraordinary.

Days turned into weeks, and every moment spent together was a new adventure. Pedro’s sister continued to be a cheerful presence in the background—occasionally joining them for dinner or sending cheeky texts that reminded them of the night it all began. And with each passing encounter, the passion between Pedro and Y/N grew, becoming a blend of playful banter and intense physical closeness that neither wanted to hide.

One cool, starry night, the two found themselves on a moonlit balcony. Pedro wrapped a warm blanket around them as they gazed up at the sky, lost in a conversation about their favorite memories and what they hoped the future might bring. “I always thought I’d be alone in all this chaos,” Pedro admitted, his voice husky with emotion. “But now, I know that sometimes, the chaos leads you to something beautiful.”

Y/N’s hand found his, and she smiled softly. “And sometimes, the best love stories are the ones that are messy, unexpected, and real.”

Their dialogue was interwoven with touches, laughter, and the quiet assurance that every moment together was a testament to their growing love. The intensity of their connection was not only in the passionate kisses or the physical closeness—it was in every shared secret, every whispered dream, every promise made in the quiet hours of the night.

In the days that followed, the couple continued to explore the many facets of their relationship. Whether it was dancing in the living room to their favorite songs, taking spontaneous trips to quiet cafes, or simply spending a lazy afternoon lost in conversation on a park bench, every moment was filled with the thrill of discovery. They learned each other’s favorite jokes, the way each smiled when they were lost in thought, and the subtle language of touch that said more than words ever could.

One afternoon, while walking hand in hand down a bustling city street, Y/N teased Pedro, “I never imagined that a case of mistaken dinner plans could lead to something so… kinetic.” Pedro laughed, his eyes alight with mischief. “I could say the same. I’m beginning to think your sister has impeccable taste in setting up opportunities.”

They laughed together, and as the day wore on, they stopped in a quiet alleyway to share a spontaneous kiss that was both playful and filled with longing. “I want every moment like this,” Y/N whispered as they pulled apart, their foreheads touching. “I want to be in every unexpected second of our story.”

Pedro nodded, his voice soft and determined. “I promise, Y/N—no matter what uncertainties lie ahead, I’m going to cherish every heartbeat we share.”

That promise, made amid the vibrant hum of the city, would become the cornerstone of their relationship—a testament to the bravery it took to embrace the unknown and trust that love, in all its messy, beautiful glory, was worth every risk.

And so, as the seasons changed and the chapters of their lives unfolded, Pedro and Y/N found that each day was a new opportunity to write another page of their story. A story that began with mistaken assumptions and a blind dinner setup, but which blossomed into a passionate, dynamic love filled with laughter, intimacy, and a series of bold, unforgettable moments.

Whether sharing a spontaneous kiss in the rain, a heartfelt conversation in the quiet of a late night, or the playful touch that conveyed volumes without a single word, they learned that love wasn’t about grand declarations alone—it was about the everyday acts of courage that transformed ordinary moments into something magical.

In the soft glow of morning light, as they said goodbye for the day and promised to meet again soon, each parting was filled with the anticipation of a reunion. Every message, every call, and every smile reinforced that their unexpected meeting was not an accident but a sign that sometimes, the universe conspires to bring two people together in the most spectacular way.

And as Pedro’s sister would later say with a knowing wink, “Sometimes, all it takes is a little meddling from those who care to see you truly shine.” For Pedro and Y/N, that meddling had led to an adventure of passion, honesty, and the kind of love that fills every moment with the promise of something greater.

So here they were—two souls who had met by chance, who had laughed, kissed, and bared their hearts in the quiet moments of a long, unforgettable night. Together, they faced the uncertainties of tomorrow with a shared determination: to embrace every risk, every unexpected twist, and every burst of passion that made life so incredibly worth living.

And with every heartbeat that echoed their newfound hope, Pedro and Y/N continued writing their story—a story of laughter, passion, and the kind of bold, fearless love that lights up even the darkest of nights.

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banana-can-do-art · 2 days ago

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Guys I just finished the well it’s not the entirety of Riddle’s dream there’s still like an hour and a half that hasn’t been translated on Gasmask’s channel but I finished the part that they did translate and omg heeelp this is the best dream yet. This is so sad omg I have to ramble about it also all translations I’m using are from gas mask on YouTube.

First of all omg he’s so happy it’s making me sad. Also him saying that he would be tired of everything being the same all the time right after I made that post rambling about how his implied OCD causes him to always do everything in a “samey” manner I aaaaagghhhh. And he’s saying that he’s going to have a chaotic band because in his dream he isn’t upset when things aren’t in order and he can just let himself be happy. You can’t do this to meeee! But there’s more!

Look he’s happily breaking the rules and feeling no anxiety about it whatsoever. (OCD be gone). In his dream world he can do what he wants with no terrible parents or mental illness holding him back. Look at him he’s adorable. And then we have this though agghhh.

This is so sad! When Ace and everyone tells him about what he’s like in real life as though they are talking about another person, Riddle immediately hates the person they are describing. Because he doesn’t like who he is irl. In fact, Riddle even says here that he hates school and studying and that it makes people miss out on the fun things in life. It’s so sad because who he actually is irl is the complete opposite of what he wants to be. He’s so isolated and self loathing I can’t.

Also in the dream Riddle isn’t even a mage. Because he doesn’t even actually like doing magic because all of the joy was sapped out of that for him because he’s always expected to do it perfectly. He never just gets to do magic because he wants to or because it’s fun but rather only because others expect and pressure him too. It feels like the idea of a hobby losing its charm and fun when people have to make it into their jobs. (I hope that doesn’t happen to me heeeelp)

Also I felt so bad for Trey during this because he knows the most about Riddle’s reality and he is the entrenched in it himself. Riddle’s mom screamed at him for five hours as a child and he’s scarred from everything that happened with Riddle and his mom as a kid and yet now he’s supposed to just walk into Riddle’s house like nothing’s wrong. That must be so jarring and unsettling. Props to Trey for managing to do that honestly that’s freaking terrifying.

Also I can’t with all of those pictures on the wall. What do you mean he hates his real life so much that in his dreams his entire memory has become fabricated. His real life memories are completely different from his dream memories. And what do you mean that in his dream his parents are together and they love him and neither of them are mages and he just lives a happy and normal life?! What do you mean?!

Also, even though his parents love him in the dream, his mom has been so awful to him irl that even though everything is fake he can’t even actually picture her face saying nice things to him so it’s just the house talking to him. That’s so awful!

Also then we get this whole reference to the scene in Alice in wonderland where Alice has the big tears and people are drowning. Except it’s tea this time lol. Also Riddle crying that he wants to get out of the house is so sad even in his dreams he can’t escape agshdjdjdj. Omg Cater is so funny in the drowning scene though, he’s just like stop crying we’re gonna drown lmao. Also I know Chenya is fake but it is still so unbelievably funny how he is literally drowning in tea and yet he just has this huge smirk on his face the whole time lol. Chenya’s so silly.

Also the house became so creepy omg I saw someone saying it looks like an rpg maker horror game and like it really does! Specifically I think it really looks like Sunny’s house during the truth sequence of Omori.

Speaking of rpg maker horror games, Malleus was really channeling his inner rpg maker horror villain this update. Poor Idia lol. My condolences to Idia, he’s become the main character of an rpg maker horror game. I dunno Idia if we are going for Omori parallels then maybe you should open that door.

And then later when he gets pulled deeper the dream reflects false desires. To have control over the dorm while everyone bows down to him is was he thinks he wants but not his actual true desire. That’s why in the second layer of his dream even though he is in power, he still seems miserable because we know that he doesn’t even want to be a mage in the first place, much less have all of these rules.

And then Chenya pushes him over and he gets tangled in his cape lmao. That was so funny and then the screen is just Riddle with his feet in the air lmao. That outfit is not conducive to getting up from a fall.

But omg when the darkness is telling him that in the dream they respect him while irl he is isolated it’s so sad. Because he knows that irl his rules and strictness (and OCD) isolate him and that’s why it’s so difficult for him to make friends. He understands that he is lonely because he is a control freak like this, and yet it’s the only thing that he knows how to do because it’s all he’s been taught. (And also because he’s mentally ill you see).

This is all so sad I can’t. Twst! How could you do this to me?!

Anyway, in conclusion punk band Riddle is the most amazing thing to ever grace my eyeballs just look at him. We need a Riddle vocaloid band rhythm game spinoff immediately actually. Also his new fit is absolutely slaying look at him go!

Now I must wait in agony for the next hour and a half or so to be translated by the great and amazing fandom hero, gasmask.

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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You have no idea how excited I was for this series and it did not disappoint in the slightest! It hit all the right spots, love!! I'm so thrilled to see where it goes from here 😍🫶

Details below 😉👇

First of all, it's one thing to wake up to yelling, but the freaking air horn?! Wow, our poor boy 😂😂

You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

I feel like that would've been on her, though 😆 If I had a boy roommate and surprised him in the morning, I wouldn't be shocked to my core to encounter morning wood lmao

The angst and constant (adorably idiotic) overthinking of Dean's during their whole shopping trip was delicious! I devoured that shit, girl. And when the crotchless panties showed up – dead 💀

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something. But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Ooof, and that is always the downfall 🙈 They're not gonna communicate properly throughout this whole fic, are they? Am I gonna be yelling at you a lot? Probably. But all out of love 😂😘

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Benny cracked me up with this line. I could so imagine him saying that with that little smirk of his 😆

I loved the guys' night out and how all of them, without a fail, made fun of Dean and knew from the start what he was talking about 😂😂

And that childhood meeting story about killed me with cuteness! Stawp 😭💕🍭

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else.

Uh-huh. I'm not believing a word he's telling me right now 😂 Gabe was right. Denial is a powerful drug lol

Gary from marketing.

Ugh, not Gary from marketing 🙄 (Honestly, who still names their child Gary these days? Not exactly a name I wanna scream in bed. No offense to any Garys reading this 😂)

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

I'm a sucker for a wasted reader/wasted Dean. (Happy) drunk people are the freaking best gift 😂🥂

I swear, if Dean doesn't communicate his feelings properly, I will throw a shoe at the screen of my laptop, hoping it will goddamn hit him 😅

But that kiss?! HOLY HELL 🔥🔥🔥 (Please ma'am, may I have some more of this hotness?)

And I love that Dean realized she was too drunk for this, but now I'm genuinely worried how the next morning will go? 👀 Are they going to be awkward about it, avoid one another, or actually talk? (Yeah, I know. The last one is a stretch lol). I'm aware of the fic title and love the friends with benefits trope, so I'm so stoked for all the angst to come and flourish in the next chapters! 😁👏

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

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Series Masterlist

Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking.

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line.

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job.

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them.

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there.

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous.

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect.

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him.

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages.

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time?

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that.

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep.

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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ezrasxfics · 2 days ago

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Could you do a one-sided Jax x Caine interaction? Jax fell for the one guy that actually pays attention to him/takes him seriously anymore, and said guy is completely unable to compute the feelings Jax has for him, let alone reciprocate. Basically... Jax being a miserable, lonely loser.

..i wish you were real.

one-sided bunnyteeth angst

jax pov

“man, i dont know. i guess i just wish you were real, but if you were, i don’t think i’d be able to tell you about this dumb stuff.” i groan, talking to caine. our ai ringmaster. “you’re the only person who makes me feel real.”

“well, of course you feel real, jax! you’re a human, after all!” he replies, a look of confusion on his face. just confusion, nothing resembling affection or recognition. i hate when he looks at me like that, it’s just a reminder him and i may as well live in two completely different worlds. it’s embarrassing i managed to fall for someone like him. but i did, hard.

“you don’t get it. of course you don’t, what was i even thinking? i’m stupid for even considering that you might be able to even— i give up.” i ramble, voice drifting off to a whisper of defeat. i hate feeling like this - powerless. lonely. it’s so damn miserable.

“i don’t get what exactly? jax, you do understand that i’m not like you, right. i cant feel the same.. complicated emotions that you do. i can feel happy, sad, angry. but i cant feel love, disappointment and other things like that! i can fake those feelings, if that would help you feel better? my goal as your ringmaster is—“

“that wouldn’t be the same. i don’t want you to fake anything. i want something.. real. but i also want you- and you’re not.. man, this blows.” i put my hands over my face, letting out a loud groan of frustration.

“but jax, like i said, i’m not re-“

“I JUST SAID THAT— do you even f**king LISTEN!? i know you’re not real. you’re not human and it’s ruining my GODDAMNED LIFE. so, i just gotta be miserable forever, because my needs don’t add up, and i cant get what i want. as usual. i never f**king get what i want, no matter what i do, and i’m sick of it.” i yell, interrupting him. i wasn’t sure when the tears started falling down my face, but when i regained my senses, my face was wet.

“jax— jax, im sorry! im sorry, but i don’t understand your feelings!! it’s not within my capabilities.. have you considered talking to..”

“none of the others like me-!! none of them take me seriously, none of them give a damn about me because i’m jax. i cause problems for everyone, and now i’m reaping the consequences. they all hate me. and guess what? i’m starting to hate myself too.”

thanks for the request!!!! this was so fun to write.. i’ve never actually thought about this ship before, but one-sided bunnyteeth is actually really interesting!!/pos

reblogs appreciated!!

#bunny teeth #jax x caine #jax tadc #the amazing digital circus #caine x jax #jax #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus jax #tadc #the amazing digital circus caine #tadc caine #caine #digital circus #amazing digital circus #tadc fanfiction #the amazing digital circus fanfiction

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scrapmetaldoe · 1 day ago

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large rocket headcannon dump because he means a lot to me (very largely mcu based)

He listens to music as much as possible. If you find him working on something or just reading a book he is listening to music.

He loves making things and giving them to people.

As much as he says he’s against it he loves getting pet, but he was against it for a while because it makes him feel vulnerable.

He is a hater at heart and he holds so many grudges against people that have wronged him, no matter how small.

He is more of a tea person and has made his own tea before.

Rocket cannot cook at all, he almost burnt down his apartment in knowhere one time trying to make a grilled cheese. However he loves food and loves being made food too.

He adores being called pet names.

He is not the best at normal reassurance but reassures in his own way. Like he will not give you words of reassurance and instead will say “What if instead of being sad we go blow shit up will that help?” (and it does)

His handwriting is awful and he is no longer allowed to write things for the guardians because nobody else can read it.

He has minor hearing loss from the amount of loud noises he’s around. From gunfire, explosions, and just listening to music too loud.

He is a certified yapper and will talk on and on about his interests.

(this ones self indulgent hehe) He loves loves loves collecting flowers and giving them away to the people that they remind him of.

His tail wags when he’s happy and he Hates it.

He’s very blunt about things and will just call people out when they’re being stupid.

He very much likes physical closeness and after a certain point of being around people doesn’t leave their side.

As said by @/raccoonfallsharder raccoons are very tactile (right here) and after crying over that i thought about how he’d react to your hand, and how eventually holding it would become a second nature to him, being able to recognize it was you only from touch and nothing else.

He likes to stick out his tongue in a mocking way but it doesn’t look mocking it just looks cute.

Groot when he was a sapling used to do up his fur and he “complained” about it but he actually really enjoyed it.

He did research on what build-a-bears were after tony called him one and he was Not happy to say the least.

(Last one) Him and yondu talked about embarrassing moments of quills. So every now and again rocket brings one up to quill and quill is shocked by how he knows that.

i have more but i’m tired, thank you all <33

#gotg #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon #headcanon #star lord #groot #tony stark #marvel

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luckymousey · 2 days ago

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Thoughts about Trey's dream (parts 257-268) (mostly things I liked)

Hey! I’m back!

Today I managed to start and finish Trey’s dream, let’s start!

Man, they even uploaded Riddle’s dream by now, I need to watch it, I don’t have enough time, help

⚠️English is not my first language and there will be spoilers for those who still haven't seen Trey's dream⚠️

Warnings?: possible swearing and grammatical mistakes

They arrive at Trey’s dream and I fucking hope they deepen up in Trey and Cater’s relationship (I write at the same time as I watch because it’s easier this way for me (I have short term memory) so I still don’t know what’s going to happen next, just to let you know)

Ace posing for the camera mid-travelling? What the hell? How!? Like, Cater filming the whole fly is easy to understand, but weren’t they flying way too fast to pose? My man here is unaffected by wind or what? 🤨 Or are they going as fast as a roller coaster?

Deuce is definitely getting his magic wheel’s driver license before the car’s one, I can feel it, he even wanted to make a magic wheel club before.

I can’t believe I was right, almost no one in Heartslabyul gets dizzy because of this type of travelling (though Cater gave another explanation, maybe i didn’t hit right in the spot)

Yo, if the Mirror of Darkness judges the dizziness resistance (I don’t know what it’s called, but you get me, right) does Heartslabyul have a big gap in number of students compared to the rest of the dorms? (I know it’s more of the sound thing, but just a question I had)

Ace being offended by the fact that we didn’t go to Deuce and he first, like, I WOULD’VE loved to go to you first, but I just couldn’t choose what dream I wanted to go first, ok? You understand? (And his dream broke my heart too many times)

AND NOW ITS POSSIBLE TO FLIGHT WITH 10 PEOPLE, MAN, SILVER IS DRAINING HIMSELF, ISN’T HE?, AFTER EVERYTHING IS OVER, HE’S GOING TO BE LIKE: “yeah, yeah, I’m happy everything is solved, I love you all, gn” HE’S GOING TO SLEEP FOR 100 YEARS FOR REAL AFTER THIS

Sebek being proud of and thankful for Lilia and his grandpa is so cute 🥰

AND MY KNIGHT, THE MIGHTY SILVER, COMES AND TALKS ABOUT GRIM TOO, YEAH, THIS IS ONE OF THE PARTS I LIKED THE MOST Grim defending us is just so cute, you guys know those headcanon some people have that Grim gives Yuu a present for Mother’s/Father’s Day because he sees them as his paternal figure because he never had someone who took care of him so much 🥺? It reminded me of those

Everyone complimenting a very embarrassed Grim gives me years of life

I can’t believe Grim said that if he was to leave Yuu behind he wouldn’t be able to study just AFTER what happened in Ace’s dream

And now the one Braincell trio talk together and tease Grim like siblings would, it’s so heartwarming 🥰

AND LEONA APPEARS WITH A FLOWN ON HIS FACE TO REMIND THEM THEIR MISSION, HE’S STILL TRAPPED WITH THEM WHEN I'M SURE HE WANTS TO FINALLY GET A NAP

The way the characters start naming sweets and everything they can smell impresses me, I can’t get a single name right when guessing what food is only by its smell 😭

My man Cater stopping everyone from suddenly entering the kitchen and showing his intelligence, he knows how to act and what to prevent

But his line?: “all I’ve to do is to drag the NPC outside, beat them and return” that sounded so sadist for me

CATER LITERALLY PUTTING HIMSELF WITH LEONA AND IDIA IS SO FUNNY, ONE IS A COMPLETE INTROVERT WHO HATES SOCIALIZING AND THE OTHER ONE FINDS CATER’S ENERGETIC PERSONALITY ANNOYING

Cater calling himself weak and that he chose Leona for said reason as unsettling, I had the same exact reaction as Leona: “don’t lie” he’s not weak! Why are you sayin that Cater? It makes me laugh a little

And then, of course, Cater drags them as Idia starts pleading for mercy: “no, don’t! Stop!”

Idia is the one who’s in most danger because he’s controlling everything, directly helping them and also communicating with STYX (who still didn’t fall asleep), running the danger that because of that, Malleus could catch him (let’s remember he caught Ortho, it wouldn’t be surprising if he suspected Idia) and he worries about having to accompany a Heartslabyul student

OMG, Ace wishing good luck to the three of them was so pleasing to my ear, I dunno, it felt…✨amazing✨ (it probably was the cheerful and sneaky way he said it

We enter the kitchen and it’s so fucking amazing, so beautiful, so perfect, AAAAAH, I LOVE IT (Alice in Wonderland is literally my fav Disney movie, I just love anything related to it) (but I ain’t forgiving them for what they did to my heart with Ace’s dream)

Something I don’t see in the kitchen is a teapot with three spouts, I demand my three-spouts-teapot

But I do see some Cheshire Cat’s cookies, they look so damn cool, I’m definitely making them when I have time

I just had a random thought, if anyone wants to make their birthday party (or anything else)

Heartslabyul themed they could make ‘sweets-garlands’, something that looks just like the food that’s flying in the new kitchen, it would be sick

Riddle would be terrorized by the new kitchen, but I bet that goth Riddle would be happily running like a kid to get more and more food (basing this off the spoilers I read about how he became a little spoiled in his dream)

AND CHENYA MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, HELLO CHENYA, I MISSED YOU 😭😭😭

Trey with his new uniform makes something inside me, I don’t know how to explain, it’s just kjhskjhgahjksjhsjk

If you look at the new clothes of Cater, Trey and Riddle, you’ll see they’re all matching, they’re wearing matching outfits and you’re not going to change my mind.

Ugh, I wish they made a new uniform for Chenya instead of just giving him a crown (but also, considering Chenya’s personality, it might be that he just doesn’t want to wear his uniform OR that his clothes can be considered uniform both in NRC and RSA)

Deuce not being able to remember Chenya’s full name reminds me of when he tried to say “Diasomnia” in the Heartslabyul Arc (I know Chenya’s name is long asf and is literally like a tongue twister, but it reminded me of that moment)

And then Ortho finally gets Chenya’s personal information…is this even legal? I mean, I know Ortho wouldn’t use their personal information abasing them (or maybe yes), but this can’t be legal (but considering what Rollo tried to do and the situation with Fellow and Gidel, I think I can say that laws there don’t work)

I swear that while the third years were reading Chenya’s information, the cat was definitely playing Dress to Impress, he was hitting all the poses he could

Idia and Leona are still talking about the theory that both Trey and Cater didn’t like Riddle as dorm leader and yada yadaaa, I feel Cater was more like he wanted to be able to live without having so many strict rules (but he wasn’t dissatisfied with Riddle) while Trey’s definitely more like he just wants Riddle to relax a little (I think. Like, I’m sure Chenya doesn’t mind being dorm leader, he’s cool and relaxed)

Idia being scolded by Ortho is *chef kiss*, I love their dynamic

Ortho is going to be a great uncle (if he really gets a nephew/niece), he’s like that friend who's like the cutest one in the group but in reality he’s the most intelligent and mature

Grim telling Ace to lower his head is so cuteeee, I need to see a fanart of all of them trying to look what’s happening in the kitchen

And now everyone is fighting with everyone while Deuce just sighs at the sight of the friends he got (even Ortho is glaring 😂)

Returning to the kitchen, Cater approaches Trey…and he tells Cater he’s not the real one…TREY, THAT’S NOT HOW YOU SAID HI TO SOMEONE; RUN, CATER, RUN AWAY

Man, the fact that Chenya is not more powerful than Riddle but still manages to keep his position as dorm leader makes sense, I think it’s like a reflection of what happens in the film: the Cheshire Cat constantly mocks the Queen of Hearts.

My dumb ass doesn’t understand Leona’s scientific explanation about Chenya’s UM, so I’ll simply say that it makes his body disappear

And the fact that Chenya pulled Riddle’s belt is just like when the Cheshire Cat used the Queen’s flamingo to lift her skirt

I swear to God that Chenya’s references to the original film are so *another chef kiss 💋*

The language Chenya uses (the ‘Pokandue’ word) would be something like Riddlish, from EAH, right?

“Whether I go or not depends on my mood”, translation: “I’ll only go if something perks my interest, if not, fuck off”, Chenya is so sassy, something like Floyd, I love him (I’m starting to thing he’s my favorite character, yes, a secondary character is my favorite character)

AND HIS HUMMING COULDN’T GO MISSING

“It’s not like there’s a huge difference between the reality and his dream”, Idia, dear…just wait

Oh, fuck, I just realized Trey was talking that he looked thinner than dream!Cater, not that he knew he didn’t belong to his dream, fuck, it makes sense, I almost forgot the meatballs existed

And while they’re talking about how they could wake him up Trey appears with his ‘Grandma “you’re too skinny, darling” mode’ activated and asks them if they’re hungry.

Trey still remembering Cater’s hatred for sweet things is so sweet of him (yes, I made another pun on it, hehe)

When I talked about Trey having a Grandma mode, I wasn’t lying man, in this part, he just fucking told them to eat 5 or 10 slices of the food, Trey, my man, my chef, calm down, you already have too many meatballs, you don’t need more

…and now Leona eats an entire pie…it’s understandable, he likes to eat…but man, in two bites?

Leona hating vegetables is so funny and then he demands for more food with meat, he approves, he approves

And Cater saying 200 tarts are too much even if there a lot of students in Heartslabyul…if you knew, Cater, if you knew

*puts voice of documentary filmmaker* And while the humans (and a robot and a cat who denies being a cat) are discussing which Riddle is weirder, the one in Ace’s dream or the one in Trey’s, something huge is slowly approaching them, it easily exceeds the average human size and weight, what will it be? An elephant? A walking building? An even weirder Riddle?…

Ehhhh, it wasn’t entirely wrong.

And nooooow, *drum roll* CONTESTANT NUMBER-

Ah, wait, they dropped some Trey Clover lore.

Oh, and I also wanted to say that it’s so amazing that the dorm also changes on its own and also have mushroom and cookies that can make you bigger, they really put a lot of detail in Heartslabyul (maybe because this was the first dorm)

When Idia said: “eh, etto…”, it sounded so cute ahjjksjakj

And I also find so cute that he was the one who started talking, and not just talking, but starting a conversation, he’s slowly opening to others (just a little, tiny bit, but I’m sure it’s a big step for him)

Idia and Trey have something in common! They both started doing what they like to do now just because that was just what they were used to (programming and baking respectively)

He was excited by the kitchen in Heartslabyul! Now I headcanon that he loves going to Ikea

and look at the furniture

I said it in my post defending Trey and I will say it again, Trey didn’t know what was going to happen to Riddle if he snuck out, even Idia and Leona are so fucking surprised by the 5 hours Mrs. Rosehearts took to yell at his family, and not only Trey wasn't the culprit of anything, but yelling at a married couple over a piece of tart, A FUCKING PIECE OF TART, is ridiculous.

And now we’re re-telling Riddle’s childhood, whyyyyyyyyyy 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

And Chenya and Trey see him as their baby brother!!! THAT’S WHAT I NEEDED TO HEAR, RIDDLE, SEND YOUR MAMA TO HELL AND GO AND LIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, YOU CAN BE EITHER RIDDLE CLOVER OR RIDDLE ALCHEMIVICH PINKA

And only now you’re telling me Trey was forced to be vice-leader 🥺? RELEASE MY BOY, YANA, RELEASE HIM (only if he wants to, of course, we don’t know if he’s now happy with the situation)

Damn, seeing Trey in his normal dorm uniform feels after this long weird

Oh, WAIT, IT’S THE HAT, HE’S NOT WEARING THE HAT IN THE FLASHBACK, I know we can see him without his hat in his school uniform, but it’s weird seeing him using the dorm uniform without the hat

Wait, wait, wait, wait, THE FACT THAT CATER, WHO IS NOT USED TO HAVE LONG-TERM RELATIONSHIPS, IS THE ONE TALKING AND ANALYZING TREY’S DESIRE FOR CHENYA TO BE THERE WITH HIM IS SO HEARTBREAKING

Leona is so sadist: “let’s just turn into sand everything Trey created for his dream. Let’s start with that silly, striped cat” maybe it’s because I’m a stupid, sensitive person, but I wouldn’t be able to even think about destroying something that makes another person happy 🥹

OUR SPECIAL GUESTS ARE FINALLY HEREEEE

*drum roll* CONTESTANT NUMBER 1: ACE TRAPPOROLLA

CONTESTANT NUMBER 2: DEUCE SPADEROLL

CONTESTANT NUMBER 3: KEITO DIABETO

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, CONTESTANT NUMBER 4: RIDDLE ROLLINGBALL

Who will our bachelor, Yuu Yuusurname, choose?

(Omg, the voiceeeees, they’re hilarious)

(The way both Deuce and Cater both though they were hedgehogs who turned into giants just shows us how crazy the dorm is and how used they’re to it)

Going tbh, when I saw the meatballs and Trey’s SSR card I thought: “oh, so…Hansel and Gretel, right?”

Bro, when they put the character besides their meatball-self is like looking an ‘before vs after’ meme

“There are two Ace and Deuce!” “It’s true!” “I didn’t notice because they were so small!” OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T NOTICE, YOU EVEN CAME ROLLING INSTEAD OF WALKING

“Aren’t you all…perfectly round?” NO, TREY, HUMANS CAN'T BE ESPHERES, PLEASE, WAKE UP

Bro, imagine a student who wears glasses and only wears glasses because contact lenses make him uncomfortable, but here’s the plot twist: he’s a Heartslabyul student, round like a ball, big like an elephant, how is he going to wear his glasses??

Haha, Sebek and Silver were more worried about Riddle not being able to ride his horse Vorpal than anything else

Yk something curious? First, I know Trey’s desire is more about his peers being able to live freely as they want, but the result was way too far away from his motto: “I’m just a normal guy”, and second, this would actually make sense as he’s the based off the Mad Hater isn’t it? We kind of had to expect something crazy

The way the meatballs just start rolling to attack them, even Silver was taken down by them, god gracious, they’re going to be flattened up into a rug…WHO WANTS THE SPECIAL EDITION “THE GREAT GRIM” RUG FOR THEIR HOUSE? LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE HAVE ONLY ONE PRODUCT LEFT, BUY IT BEFORE SOMEONE DOES SO BEFORE YOU

Ok, but the fact that Tre’s first flashbacks were literally Riddle being a tyrant…lowkey makes

me want to cry a little

”I don’t like sweets at all, but it’s so delicious I can’t help myself!” *wrong answer noise* EEEEEEEEEE, Cater would NEVER say that, he already has his little trauma with sweets, leave my boy alone

Trey’s little laugh before pointing out what his real friends do and then saying he feels sick by watching them eat his food, ✨perfect✨

MY CHEF TREY CLOVER IS BACK MY PEOPLE, HE WOKE UP, YESSSSS

Aye, Ace’s coughing was nice to hear too, I dunno, when characters make small little noises is always fun for me to hear

UMMMM, Leona telling Trey owes him and Trey simply laughing, I’m also stealing this for my 3rd years headcanon

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you”…I mean, if you want to 😆

“Will a normal mage like me be useful in this situation?” TREY, WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS AFTER WE BEAT MALLEUS and probably Grim’s ASS

“Don’t make fun of me, Leona.” That’s another thing that’s going to my 3rd years headcanon 💅🏻

Everyone telling Trey he was their wildcard but I remember Idia calling him “Riddle’s pacifier” and I’m not letting you forget about that >:3

Ace taking a guess about Riddle’s dream by saying he’ll probably dream about rules and almost everyone agreeing…you’re all so bad at the guessing game, guys really, you shouldn’t play it anymore

Silver and Trey watching their first year students in disappointment and slight embarrassment is so mom coded for them, idc if Silver doesn’t really have mom vibes, this is my opinion

AND IDIA CALLED THEM PARENTS OF KINDERGARTEN CHILDREN, I LOVE HIM, TWINNNS

So we’ve reached the end of my post, I hope you enjoyed it!

#You bet I'm starting Riddle's dream tonight and no one's stopping me #twst book 7 spoilers #book 7 spoilers #book 7 #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #Twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #trey clover #cater diamond #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #deuce spade #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #leona kingscholar #ortho shroud #idia shroud

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plumppies · 1 day ago

Text

Friends no More

Jadon Sancho

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Mention of sex. Reader has curly hair

Drea's note: I miss my man lol. Enjoy

You and Jadon were close for a very long time. You have known each other since you were both children. With him only being a year older than you, were inseparable.

You were always at his Watford games, birthday parties and even family gatherings and as the two of you grew up and hit your teen years, your parents would joke about you and him finally making it official as a couple. You brushed it off in fear of ruining your friendship for something that had the possibility of not working out.

You were best friends. Always there for each other when you needed it the most, whether it was spamming each other’sphones with the dumbest text messages and memes or even if it was to cry to one another about a bad day or game.

That’s how it was, and nothing would change that, right?

Well, no, because before you even turned sixteen, Jadon had upped and left for Germany to further pursue his football career. You were happy for him and he was happy too, but loneliness struck both of you as soon as he left for Dortmund. You no longer had someone to talk to about literally anything. You no longer had the chance to spend time with him and even if you got to FaceTime and call him, the calls were short.

It came as no surprise to you when you stopped calling each other. You only casually spoke via text. It was like you lost your best friend, but you know that wasn’t true. His mom would check up on you and tell you that Jadon spoke about you ever so often.

But why didn’t he check up on you himself?

You usually asked yourself this question but then brushed it off as well.

The news of his transfer back to England caught you unexpectedly. You always heard rumours spreading about it and never brought it up with Jadon in fear of pestering him but when it was finalised, you were quick to give him a call.

“You went through with it?” You smile at the camera, and he smiles back.

“Yeah. I missed home,” he looks at you and then continues, “You stay in Manchester, right? For uni?”

“Why?” You sing and giggle when he rolls his eyes at you.

“Because I’m gonna need a place to stay before getting my apartment in order, so-”

“So you want to crash with me?” you cut him off and squeal.

“Yes, just for two weeks,” he releases a belly laugh.

“It’s more of a studio apartment, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch,” you raise your brows and giggle, but he only shrugs, assuring you that he’s okay with that.

Soon enough, he was back in England. Your families planned a welcome home party for him. Unfortunately, you couldn’tmake it due to work, but you’d see him that night at your place. You’d given your mother your spare keys to give to him at the party so he wouldn’t have to wait long for you to knock off from work.

It’s about ten PM when you finally reach your apartment. Your living room light is on which indicates that Jadon is there and still awake.

Your stomach flips as you take a deep breath in and out. You hadn’t seen him in person for more than two years, and now, here you are about to see him. You muster up the strength to walk to the front door, unlock it and open it before walking in and finding Jadon sitting on your couch watching highlights of a United game a few seasons back.

“Jadon,” you whisper, too overwhelmed to speak.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he turns, stands up and walks to you, ready to help you out of your coat, but before he can, you hug him, burying your teary face in his chest.

He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you, too. His heart skips many beats. It’s not said, but he missed you so much. He’s missed his best friend so much, and now you’re reunited.

It feels like a dream to both of you. Maybe it’s because you’re both tired, having just arrived in England a few hours ago. You’re sure jet lag has caught up to him, and you just finished off a hard day at work.

But this is real.

He’s here.

You let go of him and smile, wiping away a few stray tears before he finally gets you out of your coat and motions for you to sit.

“How are you?” he grins, “Jeez, you look different.”

“I’m good, overwhelmed but good.” you chuckle, “and what’s that last thing you said supposed to mean?” you slap his shoulder playfully.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, y/n, so you look different. You look Pretty.”

You feel your cheeks increasing in temperature. You look away, and he catches on to what he'd said.

“I said that out loud huh? Sorry,” he tries pushing it away but clearly, it’s too late.

“So are you sure you’re okay with sleeping on the couch? You think you’ll survive for a whole two weeks on that thing?” you quickly change the subject and point to your white couch.

It’s not that small, but seeing how muscular he’s become, he might struggle to stay on it in his sleep.

“Yeah, I don’t. Plus I know you can cook so I won’t have to eat hotel food,” he tilts his head and you laugh and then yawn.

“You should prepare for bed. You seem tired.”

You nod and walk to your bedroom before returning with bed covers to make Jadon’s couch experience as comfortable as possible.

You wake the next morning to the sound of something frying up in the kitchen. You rub your eyes and head towards the noise to find Jadon flipping pieces of bacon.

“I thought you wanted me to cook for you.” you giggle, catching his attention.

“Morning to you too, and I thought it would be a nice way to say thanks for letting me stay here,” he smiles, placing a few pieces of bacon on separate plates with eggs and two slices of toast.

“That’s very sweet, J.”

He smiles and averts eye contact. You take a seat by your round dining table and dig in.

For the next few days, Jadon does the same thing every morning. You wake up to something cooking, and you eat it with him before you go to work or your university classes.

He’s missed you more than he thought, and a part of him tells him there is something else to this feeling. It’s been a week seeing you already, but he feels he’s missing something. He’s with you, spent the entire week with you, but feels he’s far from you.

Jadon stands in your bathroom, staring at his barely awake figure in the large mirror that hovers above your basin. You weren’t home since you left a few hours before he woke up.

The last thing you heard that morning in your apartment was his muffled snoring from him lying on his belly. His toned, honey-brown back was exposed from the bedsheet, only covering his lower half. You ran your eyes to his bent arms, which he used as extra leverage for his pillow. They’re painted in black and colourful ink that attractively accentuates his buff arms. He breathes deeply, which only pops his back curves and dips even more. You were tempted to touch on one of the triceps but chose otherwise.

You can’t lie that he looks extremely alluring in that position, with the morning sun rays painting themselves onto his flawless skin. You lowered your gaze to where the cream bedsheet began covering his lower half, stared at the scrunched-up material and sighed. Is it weird that you were doing that? So much time has passed since you had seen him. You are both young adults now, and you know that the dynamics of your relationship could have changed. The question is, do you want it to change, or do you want to stay as platonic friends forever?

As you sit in your little office at work, that question runs through your mind. To your unknowing, Jadon has the same thought. You both knew that dating your best friend could be risky. It’s like an irreversible experiment; once you start the reaction, there is no going back whether the experience goes well or not. You know well enough that there’s a higher chance that jumping into those waters could destroy the relationship you’d built with each other.

But would you rather live the rest of your life knowing that you didn’t try it out?

You shake your head and focus on your work, trying your best to not think about your love life at all for the rest of the day.

Soon enough, you finally get off of work and head home. Your feet hurt and all you want is to soak in your tub, eat and pass out on the comfortable fabric of your bed. As you head into your apartment you kick off your heels and find Jadon sitting on the couch snacking on a packet of dry fruits with his phone in one hand.

“I’m home,” you speak, catching his attention. Your heart flips when he only hums in response and shifts to give you space on the couch as you throw yourself on it.

“How was your day at work?” He asks with his eyes still glued on his phone screen. You huff and respond honestly.

“It was exhausting. Hated every second of it except when I went for lunch,” he chuckles and looks at you now, “How was yours?” you ask, but he does not respond, instead he stares at you with his perfect brows pressed together and his mouth straightened.

The room falls silent and tense for what seems like an eternity. You look away, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you fiddle with the hem of your dress shirt.

“Listen, y/n, I’ve been thinking about something for some time now and- and I don’t want this to hurt our friendship,” he rubs his temple, “I don’t know if I should tell you but I know that if I don’t, it will eat me alive for the rest of my life and I can’t have that; especially when I start playing again.”

You turn your entire body to face him as he balls both hands into fists and squeezes. It’s a habit he’s had since he was a child, a way for him to deal with his nerves, but why is he nervous?

“I haven’t seen you in so long and even now that we’re with each other I still feel like I’m missing something. Missing you.”

He relaxes his hands, resting them on his side as he continues to pour out his soul to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused.

“What I’m trying to say is…is that I have- feelings for you, sweetheart.”

That nickname. Oh, how you loved it when he called you that. At first, he only called you that to tease you, but it soon stuck to you as he kept using it. Now, it appears it may have a deeper meaning.

Your eyes widen, and your cheeks heat up. Did he just say that?

“Are you serious?” you whisper, afraid your words will fail you if you speak any louder.

“Yes, yes, I am. y/n. I care about you, and I love you, but I think my love for you is changing into something different. Something romantic, and I-”

His words are cut and a rough, throaty grunt escapes his pink lips when you leap in to wrap your arms around his neck for a hug while you straddle him. He slowly wraps his arms around your middle and places his head on the crock of your neck, closes his eyes, enjoying the embrace.

You stay like that for what seems like forever. None of you speak but the question still lingers above Jadon’s head, do you feel the same way?

He can’t take more of the silence so he breaks it still holding you like he’ll never hold you again.

“Y/n, do you feel the same way?” his voice comes out shaky and staggered.

“Of course I do, Jadon,” you let go of him and cup his warm, soft face, looking at him straight in the eyes.

Because his arms are still circled your waist your faces are only a few millimetres away from each other. Your warm breath bushes his face and his does yours but you don’t mind. You’re too caught up in the moment to realise that one of his hands rests on your neck and pulls you in for a sweet and short kiss. You sigh as your lips separate for a second before they intertwine again in a longer, more passionate kiss.

Your arms circle his neck again, and he pulls you closer to him so that your chest is now pressed to his. Your tongues compete for dominance, but you finally come to a steady rhythm. Soft moans are exchanged, and he grips you tighter than before, causing a warm and fuzzy feeling to spill across your insides.

At the end of that night, he’s no longer sleeping on the couch. Your naked bodies intertwine in your now messy bed. A soft shine of sweat covers you both as a reminder of the passion you had shared. As you catch your breath, Jadon turns to his side to look at you with a soft smile, a smile you would soon realise only you could provoke him to show.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way," Jadon breathes, kissing the top of your head before playing with your curls.

You smile and sigh, enjoying the newfound closeness you’d share.

“Let’s not tell our families about this, please? I don’t need them calling me Mrs Sancho right now.” You speak softly, and he chuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind them calling you that at all.” He shrugs, bringing you on top of him to cuddle. “Now sleep, I’ve kept you up long enough.”

#football fanfic #football fluff #jadon sancho #jadon sancho fluff #fanfiction #football blurb #football one shot #jadon sancho fanfic #chelsea fc #｡ﾟ•┈୨ drea writes ୧┈• ｡ﾟ

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eliza-and-her-monsters · 5 hours ago

Text

the tortured poets department

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

Prev Part < - > Next Part

Contains/TW: omg lesbians guess what?? WE MADE IT Y’ALL!! this chapter WILL BE NSFW and you should know the drill by now but STILL- MINORS DNI! you are FINALLY getting smut… glorious beautiful wlw lesbian sex 🙏 it IS millie’s first time however she is not infantilized or completely clueless about sex and i’m trying to not make her overly innocent as well. this chapter will also contain some texts in the beginning/smau type shit, brief discussions of self harm/scars, anxiety/panic attacks, and a good old fashioned menty b! also some brief 3rd person/ellie pov at the end of this?? anywaaaaays… hope you enjoy! <3

WC: 5.9k i was a yapper in this soz 😭

Part VII

false god

I was still shaking as I clicked my phone off and peered at my reflection in the mirror. Vi’s shirt was way oversized, the sleeves easily hitting my elbow and the edge easily brushing my mid thigh. Ultimately, I was still mostly covered and I think I would’ve been okay with it. If it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t seen all the scars yet.

“Ummm… hey Vi?” I questioned, cracking open the door just a mere inch. “D-Do you have a jacket or-?”

“Are you still cold?” She wondered, eyebrows furrowing as I saw her approaching the door. “I turned the heat up for you before we came in, can you not feel it yet?”

“Well, I mean- I can it’s just…” My voice shook as I seemed to trip over every word, barely even able to string them together. But thankfully I didn’t have to do much before I felt her hand slipping around my wrist, and the tiniest instinctive flinch I felt myself do was very telling.

“Baby, you don’t have to hide those in front of me, alright?” Her thumb just barely brushed over the scarred skin as I felt the door to the bathroom naturally swinging open, tracing over the individual lines that were slowly fading yet still clear and raised ever so slightly. “You’ll talk to me first if you ever wanna do this again, right? Or it doesn’t even have to be me… me or Ellie or Caitlyn or Jinx or- literally anyone-“

“Violet, I promise.” I spoke, feeling like her full name would add some sort of strength to it. The stronger a promise the more of a reason I would have to not break it. “I- I promise. I-I haven’t even done it in like a month. There was an incident over the summer after I got out of the hospital but Ellie caught me and hasn’t let me be alone with sharp objects since so… her and Caitlyn definitely have precautions.”

Vi let out a heavy breath and nodded, she didn’t want to linger on the subject or pry but I could tell it scared her. And I hated it. How I even managed to scare somebody like Vi. “I just… I really really- really care about you, Mills.” She spoke, stuttering over her own words like she wanted to choose different ones. Nevertheless though she didn’t bounce back to change them or anything. She just simply placed her hands on the side of my face as she pulled me in to place a firm kiss to my forehead. “I know you don’t need it,” She spoke next, arms slipping around me to pull me back into her. Her arms always feeling like such a safe space now, soft but tight all the same. The way she would hold my head against her chest every single time. It felt like a war could be raging on outside and as long as I was here, wrapped up in her arms, I would be safe. “But I just have this overwhelming urge to want to protect you. You’ve been through enough and I just… I want you to finally not have to worry about any of that shit while you’re here. I- I want you to be happy.”

“I am though.” I stated with softened eyes as I peered upwards at her, lifting a hand to softly lay against her cheek. A curious thumb drifting outwards to trace around her light scattering of freckles across her nose. “I am happy. With you. Right now.”

A light smile tugged on her lips, my heart almost feeling like it was skipping in my chest as I felt her hands sliding around my waist once more. “Promise?” She questioned, closing the already small gap between us as she pressed me to her body. And I caught myself hoping she couldn’t feel my racing heart beneath my ribs.

“Promise.” I felt breathless as I stood up to my tiptoes to place my lips to hers. All of the air sweeping out of my lungs as I encircled my arms around her shoulders, Vi always meeting each kiss with equal or more enthusiasm. And each kiss feeling more and more like the first one all over again. Though this one was stronger. Fiercer. Deeper.

“Are you sure you want this?” She seemed to breathe into me as I felt her hands drifting lower, already bringing up that same frustrated ache in between my legs that had only seemed to fester.

I nodded, barely able to choke out a ‘please’ before her arms encircled around my thighs and she lifted my legs to hoist around her waist with ease. “Vi-“ I stammered out with instinctive nerves as my arms tightened for dear life around her shoulders.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.” She whispered in a soothing voice before connecting her lips back to mine. Fingers brushing along my bare thighs almost causing me to whimper before she pressed me to her unmade bed where she crawled over top of me with ease. Her hips fit so effortlessly in between my spread legs finally drawing the softest moan from my lips at even the lightest friction. “Hey,” She halted, gentle eyes peering downwards at me as my trembling hands gripped her shoulders for dear life. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point.”

I gulped an anxious lump down my throat with a nod, almost feeling like my thighs were only tightening around her waist at the uncontrollable ache that seemed to form in my lower abdomen. Our bodies almost seemed to mold together as her hard muscles pressed into my own, flexing around me nearly causing me to let out a breathy moan all over again. Her hands gripping my hips and holding them to the mattress below. “You’ve never been touched before?” She whispered against my lips, the statement causing me to tense up in response. Vi’s expression softened, laying a delicate hand against my cheek as her eyes never left mine for a second, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I brought an anxious hand up to my lips as if to latch on to one of my nails again as I shook my head in response. “Have you ever touched yourself before?” Another shake of my head as I slipped my nail in between my teeth, cheeks red with embarrassment as I prepared for the absolute worse. Insecurity almost rivaling the unbridled want that seemed to course through every inch of my body. What if she didn’t want this or me? She was so experienced so why on earth would she want me for anything that lasted more than a night? “Hey… Hey, doll, it’s okay.” I heard her soft voice once more, a warm hand brushing underneath my cheekbone just before a small tear could stream down it. “That doesn’t change anything. If you still want this… just tell me. Talk to me.”

The only thing I could hear was the thumping of my heart, the heavy breaths still pushing through my lungs as she stroked my cheek. Her eyes didn’t leave mine for one second, as if searching for any hint of an answer. “I’m just… I-I’m just really scared.” I blew out a long sigh from my tight lungs, leaning into her bruised hand that had never seemed so delicate before. “But I want this- I-I really do I- I want it to be with you.”

“You promise?” She whispered, pressing her forehead to mine as her thumb softly brushed underneath my eyes. “Swear to me?”

“I promise, Vi, on everything, I promise.” I muttered just as I let my arms slip back around her shoulders, answering by pressing my lips to hers once more. I almost whimpered the moment she pressed me back to the bed, her hips slotting perfectly in between my own spread legs. Her hands toying with the hem of my shirt as if asking for silent permission.

My body shivered as I gulped an anxious lump down my throat and nodded. Her eyes were soft as she gingerly lifted the fabric from over my head. On instinct I lifted my quivering hands upwards to my chest as if to cover them until I felt Vi’s careful hands slipping around my wrists. “Let me see you, baby.” She whispered, slowly pulling them away, more silent asks for permission. Giving me the ability to change my mind if I wanted to. But somehow I never wanted to. “So… goddamn… beautiful.” She murmured as her eyes seemed to scan down my body with the look of someone who had never seen the female body before.

“Fuck, doll, you’re way too good for me, you know that?” She spoke with a half smile and a shake of her head before reaching for the back of her wife beater to yank it over her body. I don’t know what I was expecting to be fair, I knew she worked hard on her physique. I could’ve gotten lost just tracing the curves of her muscular arms, her biceps, the darkened lines of her tattoos. But to actually see the entirety of her body, it almost left me choking. The toned markers of her ab muscles and pectoral muscles, the way her back tattoo peeked out from behind her broad shoulders giving way to her hourglass figure. And were those two distinct silver bars poked through her nipples? Her body looked like a work of art itself. Carved and sculpted by only the most talented individuals.

“Ummm, I-I don’t know I- I think you might be too good for me.” I stammered with widened eyes just as I saw her lips lift in a smirk.

“Nah, I think you’re fucking perfect.” She muttered underneath her breath before pressing her bare body to mine as she caught my lips on her own. A soft moan broke through in between kisses, the cool metal of her piercings causing my back to arch against her. Seeking even more of her out as our lips seemed to mold together in a perfect sync. The ache in between my legs only spiraled towards unbearable as my hips bucked upwards, desperate for contact.

Vi let out a low chuckle against my lips before letting her own trail back towards my neck. “Patience, pretty girl, you know I’ll take care of you.” She murmured as I felt the expanse of her hand wrapping around my thigh to give it a faint squeeze.

“It hurts.” I spoke through a quiet whimper, squeezing my arms around her shoulders.

“I know… I know I’ve made you wait too long tonight just hold out for a little bit longer, okay? I wanna savor this.” She whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point before letting them slowly drift lower. Inching towards my collarbone, down my chest, each kiss I swear making that ache in between my legs get stronger and stronger while my breathing grew heavier and heavier by the moment.

Her lips wrapped around one of my perked out nipples, my jaw dropping with a sharp gasp as she ran her tongue around the sensitive area and her hands worked their way down my squirming body. “Can I, doll?” She whispered, lightly tugging at the flimsy pair of underwear still attached to my body. The only piece of clothing still attached to my body.

“Please… please, Violet.” I answered, finally giving up on my attempt not to beg. But her hand was so close. Carefully slipping it underneath the fragile fabric, a heavy moan spilling from my lips at the overwhelming pleasure that finally hit all at once as she brushed a calloused finger against my clit. My nails sunk into her back as I clutched onto her for dear life, “Vi-”

“You’re so sensitive, princess, I barely even touched you.” She whispered, her hot breath against my sensitive breasts causing my chest to arch against her. “You’re soaked too, doll, is all this for me?” I whined in need, probably nodding like a fucking bobblehead as another hand slipped downwards to delicately caress my hip bone, “You wanna let go of me so I can go down on you, baby?”

My arms seemed to squeeze even tighter around her broad shoulders, barely noticing how I had burrowed my face into the crook of her neck. I was terrified to let go of her, even though it felt like a throbbing wet mess in between my thighs. Even though I needed her so bad… so desperately… so intensely I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself. “I’ll still be right here baby, I’m not going anywhere and if you wanna stop you just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” I finally let out through a long and airy breath with a nod. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Her praise brought about another soft moan as she let her lips trail back down my body, immediately causing me to spring upwards onto my elbows with a loud whimper once they reached my lower stomach. Vi’s expression shifted into a more stern one as she lifted her arm once more to wrap her hand around my chin and press me back towards the bed. Gentle, but still firm all the same. “No, you lay back and relax. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay… o-okay.” I said through the same shaky breaths as she inched the now probably soaked underwear down my legs. All hints of nerves seemed to be replaced with need the moment I felt her soft lips brushing along my inner thighs, her hot breath dancing along my core right where I needed her the most. “Violet.” My hips bucked upwards, a shivering hand stretching downwards as if begging for her to take it.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” Vi whispered, lacing her fingers through mine with a tiny squeeze as she placed a line of kisses up my thighs.

My jaw fell open with a cry of pleasure though as I finally felt the warmth of her tongue running upwards through my wet slit. Lapping at my folds I could already feel a sense of euphoria creeping through me as she sent the vibrations of a moan through my body. “Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

Her hand reached for my thigh, wrapping her arm around the circumference to hoist it over her shoulder with ease. A gasp slid from my throat as she pressed her face closer to my core, parting my continuously slick folds with her tongue, mouth seeming to envelop the entirety of my cunt. My moans grew louder, heavier, my hand practically squeezing the life out of hers at her breath on my clit. Soon replaced by the soft tip of her nose nudging it ever so slightly, with the utmost gentleness like she didn’t want to work me up so quickly. However we were already long past that.

“Vi…” I whimpered, a cry of pleasure sounding from my lips at the stimulation to the sensitive area. My hips bucked almost painfully, rolling against her face almost looking like it was causing her eyes to roll back.

“Good girl.” She whispered, the praise covering me in goosebumps as my leg curled around her head. “Keep moving your hips like that, doll.” My hands tangled into sheets below, back arching all over again as her tongue seemed to move in sync with my hips. A sea of pleasure that made my own eyes roll back. My jaw fell open all over, desperate and erotic moans seeming to take over the entirety of my breaths.

The moment I felt her tongue curling around my clit I nearly shot up once more, massaging the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make me see stars but not enough to rush through it. This wasn’t a matter of her seeing how quickly she could make me finish. This was a matter of her wanting to savor it, take her time, as long as she possibly could. “Vi… V-Violet- oh Violet.” I could barely recognize myself, speaking her name like I knew no other word as she ran a torturously long lick around the circumference of the sensitive bundle of nerves right through my wet folds. A motion that seemed to hit every sweet spot, like she didn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched, untasted. “J-Just like that- o-oh my- just like that, p-please don’t stop.”

“Feels good, baby? Right there?” She whispered, the vibrations of her voice nearly driving me up the wall before diving back in. Increasing the pressure with each lap through, I swear I squeezed her hand so tightly I almost thought it was hurting her. But she didn’t seem to mind, just kept running her thumb along my knuckles in a soothing motion.

“R-Right there… right there… o-oh fuck- Vi!” I practically squealed at the vibrations of her own moans, her soft lips running along my clit that throbbed in pleasure. Another cry of euphoria bursting through my lips as she flattened her tongue against the swollen bundle. Lapping at my center as if she was starving, dying of thirst even.

Closer and closer she drew me towards the edge, my breathing quickening as the pressure in my lower stomach seemed to build to heights I almost couldn’t handle. “Violet… Vi- I- I think I’m gonna cum.” I could barely get the words out at the sensations, the heavy build-up that made tears burn at my eyes.

“Let go for me, baby, just let go. I’m right here.” The high felt neverending, hitting me like a shattered dam as my eyes rolled back for the millionth time. My body felt like it was encased entirely in goosebumps, leaving me nearly breathless. Vi worked me through every bit of it though, lapping up every bit of the mess like it was the sweetest nectar she had ever tasted.

The moans turned into sobs not long afterwards, the pleasure reduced to a racing heart as my entire body seemed to shake in the aftermath. “V-Vi?” I stammered through her name, like my brain had almost completely forgotten she was there until she was right in front of me. Hands cupping the sides of my face, soft powder blue eyes coming into view as she smoothed out my messy hair, strands probably soaked in sweat.

“Right here, doll, I’m right here.” She whispered, her voice a soothing symphony over the roar within my head, and I caught myself curling my trembling hands around her shoulders as if in some attempt to ground myself. I burrowed my face into the crook of her neck while the white noise of her shushes slowly drowned out the feeling of my racing heart. She didn’t pull away until the shaking stopped, soft thumbs stroking my cheeks as she wiped away every bit of the tears.

“You still with me, princess?” She whispered, the softest hand of all time gently curling around my chin and pulling me to face her.

“I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” I said through a long and heavy breath, almost trying to match them up with Vi’s, making it just the tiniest bit easier to catch my own. “I’m sorry I- I should’ve anticipated that that was gonna happen. Th-That was amazing a-and I don’t want you to feel like it wasn’t-”

“Baby girl, you don’t have anything to apologize for. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay?” She said with a shake of her head, brushing scarred lips against my temple. The weight of her body felt like a warm blanket, a soothing embrace as I wrapped tight arms around her broad shoulders, probably clinging to her like a damn koala. “Do you need me to get you anything, princess? Something to eat maybe? I live with a fuck ton of jocks but I’m sure I could find something you like.”

“I… like you.” I murmured, cheeks as red as roses as I let my pointer finger gently trace along the curve of her jaw.

“Doll, I know, you already have me though. What else can I get you?” She chuckled lightly, pressing her lips to my forehead this time. Sweet little delicate kisses that only made my smile grow. I had definitely thought about what I’d be into during sex, but never really put a ton of thought into what I’d want during aftercare. I guess I always assumed I’d probably be high maintenance due to sensory overload and so on… but with Vi, I found that in a lot of ways her arms were enough. Still, I didn’t want her to think I was too clingy.

“Do you by any chance have a weighted blanket? And can you tie my hair back… maybe?” I questioned, nervously chewing on my bottom lip and hoping it wasn’t too much. Vi only cracked another small smile as she nodded.

“Yeah, I think I can do that, and I’ll see if we have one.”

Moments later after a few more forehead kisses and cleaning myself up in the bathroom, she was gently running a brush through my long hair as my eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. She of course wasn’t very well-versed in hair care. Not in the way that Caitlyn would always braid it in different intricate styles whenever we were growing up and Ellie even being surprisingly good at it whenever we were in the psychiatric program over the summer. I didn’t mind though. It was soothing, feeling her take her time running the brush through the long strands, getting all the knots out.

“Is this your love language? Letting people play with your hair?” She finally spoke up after a moment of comfortable silence.

The corners of my lips quirked upwards in a little chuckle as I felt her twisting the thick strands into a loose ponytail, though I wouldn’t have minded letting her run her fingers through it for a fair bit longer. I guess that answered her question. “Caitlyn started it I guess you could say. I’ve always liked my long hair and felt really pretty with it so I never wanted to cut it short but… sometimes having it down would just make it so much easier for me to get overstimulated. And my parents never had time to, well, do a ton of nurturing stuff like do their daughter’s hair so- Caitlyn learned how. I swear almost every day from year 5 onwards she would do my hair every day before school. She had like a dozen different girls asking her to braid theirs at some point too for like, school dances and formals and stuff.”

I rambled on, my cheeks only heating in response as I fiddled around with the edge of Vi’s shirt that I had slipped back on. “Sorry- i-if I talk about her too much, I know she’s sort of your ex, she’s just- she’s like my best friend, you know?”

“She’s hardly my ex.” Vi almost snickered with a shake of her head. “And I get it, she’s a big part of your life… and in all honesty I can’t blame her for being at least a little bit wary about, you know,” She took in a deep breath as she lounged back against her bed, arms stretching upwards to rest her hands behind her head. A moment of hesitation passing, as if she was afraid to say the words. “Us.”

Something felt like it was blooming in my chest as she said those words. A deep flush creeping back up into my cheeks that I ultimately tried to ignore as I cautiously moved to lay next to her. “How come?” I wondered, curling up onto my side as I watched her eyes sweep over to meet mine.

“You really wanna see the good in everybody, don’t you, doll?” She questioned, the dodge of the question causing my chest to tighten for a brief moment.

“Not always.” I muttered with a tiny shrug, “I’ve found that humans are vastly complicated beings. They’re rarely entirely evil, and even then… we rarely actually think we’re entirely evil, and then whenever we do- it’s rarely true.”

“You sure you’re not a philosophy major?” She questioned with a lifted brow, a tiny giggle breaking through my lips as I let myself inch closer to her warmth.

“Definitely not, but I am an english lit major which is… kind of the same thing.” I suggested with another shy shrug as I curled up to her side, immediately feeling her muscular arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me into her chest. Surprisingly soft, those same damn pheromones drawing my eyes shut as I draped my other arm around her body.

I barely even noticed it at first, my fingers accidentally brushing against the lines of a few slightly raised scars etched onto her side. Though I almost jumped whenever I heard Vi’s breath hitch and her hand wrap around my wrist to pull it from the area, instead letting it settle against her chest. “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered, shoulders tucking inwards in an instinctual wince.

“No, it’s okay, doll… it’s just a sensitive spot, you didn’t know.” Her hand loosened on my wrist at the reaction, brushing a soft thumb along my knuckles as she did so. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She added with a slightly guilty sigh as she lifted my hand upwards to brush her lips to my knuckles next.

“I feel like-” I began, cautiously tossing the words around in my head as I rested my cheek back on her chest. Weighing them in my head, still approaching each interaction with caution. Because I was raised in an environment where asking questions was seen as an act of defiance. “You know everything about me but I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know everything that matters.” She spoke with a sigh that almost sounded exasperated, brushing her fingers underneath my chin to tilt my head upwards to meet her eyes. Still gentle, still careful, but firm in her stance nonetheless. “I’ll tell you more eventually, okay doll? But for now I really need you to get some rest, alright? I’ll be here whenever you wake up.”

I caught my bottom lip in between my teeth, fighting back my stubborn and anxious protests with a nod. “Promise?” I muttered, finally drawing another tiny smile from her lips, nearly causing me to sigh in relief at the sight. She isn’t angry, she isn’t angry at you. You’re fine.

“I promise.” She answered, brushing a soft pair of lips against my forehead before I could snuggle back into her chest.

I almost wished I could say sleep came more difficult that night, in a new environment wrapped up in the arms of someone who clearly wasn’t just a friend. I wished I could’ve said that so I could convince myself I wasn’t falling too hard too impossibly fast. But it came so easy… and I was clearly well and truly past the point of just falling.

The empty locker room after the break of dawn was usually the best place to breakdown in private. Especially with Jinx being a known snooper, Ellie being a known introvert, and Jinx also not being the best person to wake up without landing yourself a black eye. And in Ellie’s defense, it’s not like she could sleep. So she had originally drug herself to the 24-hour gym attached to the hockey rink first to blow off some steam which later… of course- resulted in her breaking down where she was today. Her face buried into her knees, sketchbook open in front of her and headphones latched over top of her head playing music that absolutely was not going to make her feel better.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried to this extent. Certainly not while she had been here, and if she had she couldn’t remember. But this wasn’t a cry she could easily forget. It was one that made her entire head ache, and even more so the space behind her red eyes. The type of cry that you could feel in your chest, a crushing ache that almost made you think your heart was actually physically breaking.

It was ultimately a selfish reason to cry, brought on by her own co-dependency. And maybe partially a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.

The feeling of someone tugging at her headphones nearly made her jump out of skin. Probably letting out a supremely embarrassing squeal as she dropped them around her neck. “Geez? Crying alone in the locker room? Not even the lounge? You must be on some serious self-deprecating shit.”

“Jesus Abby! A warning would’ve been nice!” Ellie huffed as she immediately dug at her eyes with the heels of her hands in some attempt to hopefully dry it all up before she could make a fool of herself even more than she already had.

“I said your name like 5 times and snapped in front of your face. This was a last ditch effort.” Abby said with a shake of her head before whirling around to face her locker. “You look like shit, what’s up with you? Boy trouble? Girl trouble? Whatever you’re into trouble?”

“Definitely not boy trouble.” Ellie whispered, bringing out her phone to pause the song still raging in her headphones.

“I figured but- didn’t wanna assume.” Abby said with a shrug, already setting to work with undoing her lock as she shrugged the oversized backpack from her shoulders. “So… girl trouble then?”

“Why are you acting like you care?” A slight crack crept into Ellie’s voice as she peered over at her, and she hated herself for it.

“Oh… I don’t- don’t flatter yourself. Sometimes that’s easier though… talking about it with somebody who doesn’t care.” Abby added casually as she began to unpack, shooting another nonchalant look Ellie’s way with another simple shrug. “Up to you. You can of course let it fester if you want, seem like an expert at doing that anyways.”

“I don’t let things fester I- not anymore. I just can’t talk to people about this.”

“You mean you can’t talk to Amelia about this.” It wasn’t even phased as a question because she already knew. Ellie was easier to read than she liked to let on. In fact whenever she was in the hospital one of the first things she was called out for was her ‘resting sad face’. Whenever it was blotchy and tear-stained it probably didn’t make it any better.

“She would hate me.” She muttered to herself, not even knowing why she was even talking to Abby about this. But regardless she was. “I would blindside her… right whenever she’s finally happy. Right whenever she’s finally making connections with somebody who isn’t me. I can’t- I can’t do that to her. I would look so fucking selfish!”

“My god, you’re such an opposite of a piece of shit it drives me crazy.” Abby huffed as she dropped the remainder of her backpack load in the locker before whipping around to face her. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re bawling your eyes out to Taylor Swift alone in a locker room at 6:30 in the morning, currently spilling your guts out to your bully instead of any of your actual friends because you’re worried about how your pain affects other people. Do you not realize how ridiculous that sounds, Williams?”

“Because I don’t want my pain to be the cause of other people’s pain because I don’t know how to control it, Abby! I’ve spent 20 years of my life being a piece of shit and not being able to control myself and you wanna know how the universe responded? By giving me a fucking gun!” Her voice cracked as she flew up to her feet, eyes burning and blurring with incessant tears and fury chipping away at every single bit of sanity she had worked so hard to finally develop. “I can’t- I- I’m sorry. I-I should go.” She sniffled, lifting a shaking hand as she quickly shoved the sketchbook back into her backpack. She barely could understand the words that came out of her own mouth, the tremble seeming to take over her entire body.

Fuck, what had happened to her? She was unstoppable in the army, her gun like an extension of her hand. And there she was, the youngest person in her platoon yet simultaneously the best shot her lieutenant had seen in a while. But now, here she was, breaking down alone in a locker room, overtaken by the shakes.

She had become so weak. So defenseless. So everything she promised herself she’d never be.

“It’s a shame.” Abby spoke up with a carefree sigh and a shrug, “We were finally starting to get somewhere.”

“Listen, Abby-” Ellie huffed as she hoisted her backpack onto her back before whirling around to face her once more. “I know you think you have me all figured out but respectfully, you really don’t, okay? Wh-Whatever version of me you created in your head… she just isn’t real. I-I’m not a good person, Abby.”

“So ask yourself, is my version of you the one that isn’t real or is it the version of you that you had no choice but to be?” She took a step closer, Ellie’s breath almost hitching in her throat the second she had to tilt her head upwards to meet her eyes. It was only a few inches of a difference, three minuscule tiny inches, but lord did it feel like so much more than that. Her broad frame that felt like it could’ve covered Ellie’s entire figure.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ellie stammered, arms slipping around herself in a makeshift hug or a shield either one. She didn’t know which one she needed more. “You throw my face into the ice one day and get your shit rocked by Vi trying to defend Amelia’s honor and now you’re talking me down in the locker rooms the next? D-Did she seriously have that much of an impact on you?”

“Vi’s a pretty good mediator believe it or not. She’s not just a dumb jock who only thinks with her fists.” Abby added, taking a step backwards only to start unbuttoning her many layers to protect herself from the cold. And Ellie couldn’t help but to gulp a dry lump down her throat the moment Abby finally stood in not much other than a simple grey wife-beater. Just in time for Abby to glance her way and catch her eye. “Are you just here to ogle now or-”

“In your dreams, Anderson.” She scoffed, quickly turning away from her to grab her half-drank water bottle. “I’m not into ‘roided out mascs.”

“Your blush says differently but go off, Williams.” Abby stated, eyes briefly giving Ellie a once over which only causing her cheeks to burn even more.

“That’s only because it’s cold.” Ellie brushed off, a hand flying upwards to her face as if in some attempt to wipe away the flush. “Anyways umm, I-I should go. Thanks for the pep talk… I think.”

“Oh you absolutely should thank me for the pep talk. Will I see you at training later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ellie forced out, almost wincing as she pulled herself from the locker room. Not letting out the frustrated groan she was currently feeling until she was completely out of the building.

A/N: i’m so sorry it’s taking me longer to pump these out 😭 mental health has not been killing it lately but i’m still trying hard to put out good content i just might need a bit of a break occasionally 😅 regardless though i have so much fun shit planned for this story so i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! also… brief hint of ellabs at the end?? thoughts?? 😌

Credits: main divider by @saradika-graphics mdni divider by @adornedwithlight 🤎

Taglist: @sawaagyapong @autisticgirlkisser @macamilarofe @nombreuxx @snowbunnyboo @lils-1979 @myrrusstuff @baylegend6 @withyou-withoutthem @lil7-I @cloudy-fay @liliwritin @primarina-diamandis @soodle-noup @livil589 @riches-expresso @deepobservationcherryblossom @pixieolives-blog @roseannih @fernanda-2022 @clefairysoup @cherrybomb2298 @purplerose418 @sharklover331 @lizzielovee @rocknr0ll @nomarksonelegance

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skyfallscotland · 16 hours ago

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This was a stellar analysis and if everyone who is NOT Helena could just ignore this reply that would be amazing. (Not really, you don’t have to, but like if you think I’m dumb just whisper it quietly to yourself and if you can’t handle dissection of the text or SOMETIMES dissatisfied opinions, then also turn away this is not for you, I don’t want more anxiety it was just too long for the comment reply box).

I laughed out loud at “modern au” 😭😂 she just wanted to get in on that, she saw us writing relatively happy Xaden and went you know what, that seems like fun

I just think the new “brother” being Bodhi is so trite and heavy handed 😩

I actually just assumed this was a six month period like the last two books so Aaric’s signet could have manifested a month in LMAO damn it. PLUS, before Rebecca said that, it did line up for him having manifested during the battle of Basgiath. His whole speech to Vi about having to choose between Lilith and her seemed a bit too on the nose to me.

If it IS Bodhi for the reasons RY implies and Xaden’s like wow he’s the last person I’d expect…it really isn’t a good look for Xade in my opinion 😭

What is a random vindictive gene if not a birth defect? Though I think maybe it could have been better demonstrated by Violet having had the fever and never recovered herself (a la POTS/CFS) if she wasn’t going to actually do something with it, but then I also think making the illness the result of her being “the bad guy” could also give neggy connotations? Idk it really depends if she plans on expounding on veninism—I know we’ve talked about this before.

But also on this—was Vi just a preemie baby? Was she just small? Because (afaik) a hEDS presentation probably wouldn’t be immediately obvious until she’s four? Five? Which is def old enough to remember going with daddy to a temple if it was a big deal/memorable event. Like how old was she before this was an idea in Asher’s mind? Or are we just assuming it’s to do with her illness and it’s not. It’s never overtly said.

I also think, on the venin, that perhaps in her original idea, they Were supposed to be a very one-dimensional villain, but then we got to writing book two and they made it a five book series and all of a sudden she felt like she had to flesh a lot of things out? And that maybe that is where things became unstuck and not greatly paced in regards to them as a concept?

“She is warmth and light and air and love” CRYING

Also, out of order with my other thoughts but I didn’t really get the ice analogy (when reading it in the book), I’m sorry, I’m dumb but it feels clunky.

SGAEYL IS HIS MOTHER

I don’t know who that person on the isle even was and his real mother should have roasted her for her offences.

Jack kinda implies that it goes initiate then straight to asim, no? Like there’s no in between?

The intentionally misleading writing For Me doesn’t hit. I really feel like she does this continually and I just think it shows poor narrative skill and/or poor choice of POV/tense overall if that’s how you want to do it. At the end of the day, readers aren’t supposed to come away from your book confused. Curious and wondering, yes, but confused, no. I would die if this many people were walking away from my writing going “what the fuck was happening, I almost DNF’d because I didn’t understand a thing” but that’s just me.

I think also, the lack of resolution for anything also ties into this. You have to give your readers some payoff and it can’t just be in the form of fan service. Every book needs to have some subplots that are wrapped up, all good series’ have some subplots wrapped up in each book—you get new questions, sure, but you have some answered too. Onyx Storm just didn’t do that.

Also, I think the Isle of Dunne is a red herring, I think he’s taking the eggs to the irids. They’re the ONLY ones who right now, as far as he knows, conceivably have the power to change the tide of this war, they just refuse to help because they left an irid there once and the dragons perverted her morality? I don’t have a fleshed out theory, but I think they’re the only ones it makes sense for Xaden to try and elicit a deal out of right now and I think he somehow plans on using the cultural exchange student hatchlings to do it 🤪🖤

Question: are the irids technically dragons at all? As we know them?

Were the dragons irids who lost some of their power by drawing from the ground or refusing to worship their gods? Is this devolution at work? I have….questions.

I’m very aware I need to do a re read to clear some things up for myself but I’m just not…wanting to yet ha. It’s also 1am so I’m probably making ZERO sense, I can barely keep my eyes open sorryyyy xx

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the ending!!

I'm soooo sorry nonny. This took 5ever. For some reason, I mentally decided that the completion of this ask would be the end of my Onyx Storm era, and then I didn't want to go near it because I didn't want the book to be done :(. However, I was brave, and I did it. This got insanely obscenely long, so you're getting Xaden's chapter 65 now, and then I'll reblog with Vi's LAST chapter some other time.

Chapter 65: Xaden

Veninism: I think the first thing that comes up in this chapter is the insight into the venin mindset. Xaden's significantly more intense (both than earlier in the book, and in his previous POV chapters). At first, I wasn't a huge fan of the "ice" thing, because I missed the part where he explains it (perks of reading till 5 in the morning) and I thought it was some anachronistic hockey reference. (Fun fact: I wrote this out before Rebecca gave that interview revealing that, yes, it WAS an anachronistic hockey reference. I know that lady WELL.) HOWEVER! The way it's explained here, (essay below the cut)

"Wrath courses like a current under the ice I willingly skate onto, cutting my emotions like the burdens they are so I can be the weapon she needs." (Yarros, 520)

reminds me a lot of a PTSD flashback/trauma event. Not only does this make significantly more sense with the metaphor at hand, but it makes a lot more sense with Rebecca's body of work. I know she's made addiction comparisons, and I can see some lines, but, frankly, I think it's a much more intricate web than a 1-1 metaphor. Especially with the use of the word "triggered" to describe what happens to him when he is "on the ice" as it were, I think (if anything) it's about using an addiction to cope with PTSD-type trauma.

Bond Fuckery: After revealing that Xaden cannot kill the sage himself, he goes on to say,

"I could no more raise a blade to his throat than I could Violet. The bond between Violence and me is the kind of magic that has no explanation." (Yarros, 521)

Which....is weird! Given that we have a precise explanation for said bond in Fourth Wing, maybe something else is going on? #the power of love?? I'm not trying to say they're soul mates in any real tangible way because this is not that kind of story, but I do think it means something. I just don't know what yet.

Further bond fuckery themes are found earlier in the book. There's the entire situation with Andarna leaving, in which Leothan says,

"Bonds are merely magical ties. You are irid. You are magic. Bend it, shape it, break it as you see fit." (Yarros, 443)

I've definitely seem some people floating the idea that perhaps Andarna broke Tairn and Sgaeyl's mating bond, re: Tairn's suspicious period of rest on page 526, (I personally thought he was tired from killing some dragons!) and I definitely think that's a possibility. However, I think it's really interesting that, specifically, Leothan also says bend it and shape it. I know we're supposed to finish the book thinking that Andarna/Leothan severed Violet's bond with Andarna, and then re-forged said bond mid-battle. To me...that doesn't really make sense? There was no real moment where you can say, okay, bond re-forged. It just kind of happens? Which I suppose is also how it happens at threshing, so maybe I'm the problem. Still, I think the idea that perhaps Andarna (or another irid??? given her 1 week of training???) bent or reshaped Tairn and Sgaeyl's mating bond (in order to protect Xaden/Xaden's mission/Violet from the consequences of Xaden's mission) is worth considering.

There's also the entire element of modern AU no magic isles. I know a lot of people thought that entire quest section of the book was filler, but I disagree. I definitely think that insertion was meant to demonstrate that the bonds are not as infallible as we've been led to believe, to show their importance to Xaden and Violet, and to further show just how much Andarna is not like other dragons, and therefore able to do shit with the bond.

Xaden's new brother! Xaden starts off describing the new venin by saying,

"and now that my sage has a new sibling he can use against me...I'm screwed." (Yarros, 521)

Then, he goes on to add:

"...my new brother and the unconscious dragon lying in the valley...how could he do this? Choose this after watching me stumble and fall over the last five months. How could he willingly walk the path I've fought like hell to leave? He's the last person I ever would have expected to turn, and yet here we are." (Yarros, 521)

My money's on Bodhi! There's a lot of "brother" mentions surrounding Bodhi, given the repeated descriptions of how similar he and Xaden look. He's "the closest thing (Xaden) has to a brother since Liam." Garrick even thought Theophanie called Bodhi his brother beforehand! It's Bodhi. Further nuance to Bodhi turning is found, in my opinion, in his frustration with Xaden's over-protection at the end of Onyx Storm. This feeling of impotence combined with something potentially happening to Cuir (re: unconcious dragon lying in the valley/Bodhi puking his guts up wherever that quote is) gives him a reason to turn.

I know @skyfallscotland thinks Xaden's new brother is actually Aaric, which is also super intriguing. Specifically, Amy suggested a scenario where Aaric knows he needs to be venin in order to win the war, and is willing to do whatever it takes to get to the future he sees. I do lean more towards Bodhi than Aaric, if only because of the element of knowing for 5 months (which Aaric does not--even if he finds out about Xaden's veninism from his signet, RY has confirmed Aaric didn't manifest in IF, and therefore it cannot have been five months prior to Battle of Draithus), Xaden really seems to care about this new brother. I know he says he has a "complicated sort of loyalty" to Aaric, but I don't think he and Aaric at the friendship level where Aaric can be used against him in the same way Bodhi can. There's also the whole having to give Vi Tyrrendor ordeal. I know some people think Xaden may have had a change of heart and decided to listen to Bodhi in regards to not forcing him to lead Tyrrendor in his stead, and/or Xaden just felt giving Vi the province directly (what a wedding gift!) was the best possible way to protect her. Who knows, not me. I think of Xaden as someone not particularly inclined to listening to people when he doesn't feel like it, but I also know he'll prioritize Vi regardless, so it could go either way.

Slayer! This is just for the one line mention of Berwyn killing the dragons with the alloy dagger. For one thing, I think this draws parallels between the venin and the dragons (which have been a theme the entire series). For another, I think this is how Xaden, Vi, and co. go about killing the dragons and elders in order to get to the eggs. Seems a lot less messy!

Everything, Everywhere, All At Once: Throughout the text, there's a couple mentions of individuals inability to be everywhere all at once. Theophanie, in chapter 60, for example: (from my Kindle copy, so no page numbers, sorryyyy)

"You're just another lightning wielder, mortally incapable of being everywhere at once."

Or, the slightly different take from Mira in Chapter 23:

"Even if he did, we can't be in two places at once."

I have no idea why this got me so bad, but every time I read it, my spidey-senses tingled. I really feel like it means something. Xaden then wraps things up with saying he IS everywhere at once, on page 522 in regards to the veninism amplifying his shadow powers.

Do I know what this means? No! Of course not! At first, I thought it was a papa sorrengail is venin hint, but I don't actually believe in that. I have been holding out hope that perhaps Vi is somehow venin from Lilith (this is why I think papa sorrengail had her dedicated. it doesn't really make sense to me for Rebecca to write her with a real disability, and then have that real disability be a birth defect when it isn't one in real life. that just seems odd?) and I think this COULD be a hint there. Although, as always, who knows.

What is a soul if not love? Some of you may know, I've been getting a wee bit heated about the implications of the corporeal soul. I get a bit gagged by this because it makes no sense. I ask @maethologies probably once a day, what IS a soul? And to that question, I raise you this: what is a soul if not love?

page 523 has this:

""I love you.' Violet's voice cracks the cold, and a silken thread of warmth wedges itself in the opening before it seals shut, locking it in place. No. Wait. I grab for that thread with desperate hands, clawing to keep her as more of my pieces are blown away, lost to the void. She is warmth and light and air and love."

For starters, I think "she is warmth and light and air and love" is my favorite quote from the entire series. It makes me want to cry!!! There's definitely something to the fact that being venin makes Xaden colder, and Violet only seems to get warmer in this book (her lightning being hot enough to blister, for example). But really, my focus here is that he's so aggressively in love with her. I genuinely do not know how people read this line, or the rest of the novel, and somehow thought Xaden was just going to go join up with the venin. Genuinely! I am REALLY not trying to be mean, it just makes no sense to me.

I'm going to go a bit out of order here to further contextualize, but other Xaden Riorson bangers include:

"What even am I? Hers." (Yarros, 524)

And, far earlier in the text, when Courtlyn asks to whom Xaden swears his fealty:

"Violet. (...) My loyalty is to Violet first above everything, everyone else." (this is a Kindle page number because I don't want to find it in my book, LMAO, but it's 326 in that format!)

Again, he's constantly making it as clear as humanly possible that SHE comes first for him. He is not going to spontaneously gain venin loyalty. Whatever soul-fuckery is going on here, it doesn't make him incapable of love. If anything, the presence of love is what is going to continue to save him. In the chapter 48 epigraph, in which a scenario is described wherein a venin returns to their village, desiccating an entire village except for her husband and two children. Clearly, the theme here is that the feeling of love helps venin gain control of themselves when lost to the thrall of power, if you will.

Frankly, there's a LOT of issues with venin as a concept and how willing the fan base is to accept the characterization of the entire "enemy" as evil, soulless, and incapable of feeling and love. Just on the most basic level, think about the real world implications of that ideology for about ten seconds. If you can't do that, think about it in-universe. The entire point of books one and two were that Navarre's government perpetuated a narrative of dehumanization in regards to the Poromish people so that Navarrians could see them as the enemy. This tactic of dehumanization is then DIRECTLY applied to the venin. The narrative on the surface-level is: These people ARE human, but these other guys are the REAL monsters. Please kill THEM instead. I cannot tell you how many times I've seen people say "Violet's never killed anyone in the series, she only kills venin!" The very fact of saying these people aren't human; therefore they can die...do you see what I see? I know I'm a bit more thematically minded than the average romantasy reader, but it's really VERY in your face here.

The most obvious narrative purpose for Xaden choosing to turn is that it gives Violet and the reader a way to humanize the venin, just like working with the gryphon fliers in part two allowed us all to humanize them. After I finished IF, there was not a doubt in my mind that this was where Rebecca was going.

And she went there...a little bit? She's about halfway there, I'd say. Violet has started to internally reconcile with the fact that Xaden being a venin makes it impossible for her to generalize venin any further, but there's definitely still an undercurrent of "he's not like other venin!!" I think this COULD be a logical progression of the story, and, partially, I think it makes sense for it to take a minute for her thought processes to shift. However, I think it needs to be better layered? And I think that when you have a book like this one with such a low barrier to entry, you need to do a bit more thematic hand-holding if you want people to really get things.

Anyway, this was all to say: Xaden loves her, and so, his soul is fine. HE's fine. He's not evil, he didn't marry her just to leave, he's not "team venin". Etc! I could go on about this further, and I think before book 4 I'll be pushed over the edge and do so. But, for now, I do think the direction Rebecca is pushing for is the "cure" being the power of love et. al.

Mommy Issues: We come back to Sgaeyl! I know some people think Sgaeyl breaks the bond with Xaden as part of his 12 hour plan, and again, I ask: literally how.

Basically, unlike his mother, Sgaeyl isn't leaving Xaden. When he breaks through the pulling from the earth haze, he asks Sgaeyl if she forsakes him, and she says:

"'What is there left of you to forsake?' Sgaeyl lowers her head and steam gusts down the canyon, reminding me of the moment she found me in the forest at threshing. (Yarros, 523)

My direct annotation here is : threshing! Threshing = choice. And I'm right! Threshing does equal choice. She has the option to forsake him, and she doesn't! Case closed. I will say, just as a side note, the idea that she'd leave him for being extra venin is wack as hell when he became extra venin for her. I don't think she was that heated about him being venin in the first place: the focus of her ire at the end of IF was that he "picked" Violet. "You cannot! I chose you!/ But Violet chose me too." She's just a pick me dragon at heart.

Quest Squad (Xaden's Version) I touched on this in response to my other ask about the ending, but now we're gonna go beat by beat.

Xaden starts what I call the quest intro by responding to Sgaeyl's threshing part 2 with:

"'You tell me.' I lower the ice and let her in."

Clearly, this is Xaden showing Sgaeyl whatever plan he's been concocting in his head.

Sgaeyl's response:

"Her next breath is laced with sulfur, and her eyes widen. 'You cannot mean to--'"

Now, this is just needlessly vague to make sure we buy the next book. Like we weren't going to anyway. Thank you for extorting me, Red Tower. However, at the very least, it reveals that his plan is, shall we say, problematic? Controversial? Illegal?

Then, we have (from Xaden)

"'You saw what happened. It is the only way.' She glances over her shoulder. 'And you think she'll help?' 'She loves me.' 'Tairn does not, and you haven't looked in a mirror yet. The red veins branching from your eyes look like her lightning.' 'She'll help.' It comes out with a hell of a lot more certainty than I feel. 'She promised.'"

Line by line time!

"it is the only way" is mad interesting from Xaden "the right way isn't the only way" Riorson. It could just be the influence of being venin on his psyche---everything feels more serious now, and he himself is more intense. But it's such an interesting switch, especially since Violet's assumed his way of thinking from FW.

At first I thought the pronoun fuckery in SHE'll help/SHE loves me was meant to indicate that the she in question was not actually Violet, but I don't think so anymore. I do think it's intentionally misleading! Again, for the money. But, more than that, I think Sgaeyl is glancing over her shoulder AT Violet and Tairn to indicate who they're yapping about.

Now, how will she help? I think this is a separate quandary than the marriage (hence where I broke up the text). Personally, I think this is him saying Vi goes with him to get the eggs/kill the dragons/etc.

The veins branching from his eyes are intriguing. I know he says he's no longer an initiate on this page, but I don't think he's an Asim either? According to Mr. Drake Cordella's venin compendium, Asim's veins distend only when riled, but Sage's veins are perpetually distended. (Iron Flame chapter 47 epigraph). I guess we'll see? I don't know, it would make sense to me if he was a sage, but who knows.

And, finally, what the hell did she promise?

WAY earlier on in the book, Xaden says:

"Swear you'll sound the alarm if I go too far, that you'll keep it safe, even if it's from me." (Yarros, 58)

This is what I think he's referring to! I know @hockeyspiral23 thinks the 'it' in question is actually the sword of Tyrrendor (correct me if I'm wrong!!) and not Tyrrendor itself. I definitely think there's something to that theory.

A few pages later, Xaden says:

"I'll use Tyrrendor to protect you, not you to protect Tyrrendor." (Yarros, 102)

Not to be a broken record, but again: Intentionally! Misleading! Content! I think you're SUPPOSED to interpret the promise as Violet saying she'll protect Tyrrendor from Xaden, and Xaden saying he's "gone too far". But when you actually look at the text, there's no way that's what he's saying. First of all, why would Sgaeyl think THAT plan wouldn't work with Tairn? Tairn does NOT fuck with Xaden right now. And then, why would Xaden Riorson, president and CEO of the Violet Sorrengail fan club, prioritize Tyrrendor over Violet? He cares about Tyrrendor, sure, but in the face of VIOLET? It doesn't compare. It just doesn't! ("I love you more than this city. Do not die defending it.") He's not winning any king of the year awards with those priorities, but that doesn't make it any less true. I basically already have a post ranting about this, (here! If you're curious) so I'm going to cut myself off here. Basically, we have to remember who Xaden actually is when we try to contextualize this vague ass chapter.

And then, wedding bells!

"'Even if she agrees, no one will--'

'Someone owes me a favor.'" (Yarros, 524)

This is the part of the quest that I think is more directly the marriage issue. This has already been covered elsewhere, but the Priestess from Dunne's temple says she owes Xaden a favor earlier on. She goes on to officiate their marriage. I just think the wording makes it clear that this is a multi-step plan. (How can Violet "help" with her own marriage?)

I already quoted the absolute banger "What even am I? Hers." But I'm going to bring it up again! His loyalty, primarily, is to Violet. Whatever quest he's going on, it's FOR HER. He steals the eggs FOR HER. He''s taking them somewhere FOR HER. I don't know how to make that any clearer, but if I keep seeing people misinterpret it, I'll probably try again.

Agency!

The final bit I'm going to pull is Sgaeyl saying:

"And her decision will determine our fate." (Yarros, 524).

I think this just really succinctly makes clear my 573938503 argument above. Violet gets final say on Quest Squad (Xaden's Version) but whatever he does do, he's doing it with Sgaeyl. I know there's some good bits Rebecca's said throughout the tour that support this interpretation, but I don't think I need them quite yet. Maybe next time!

For now, that's all. I'll see y'all back here with Violet's chapter in a bit!

#onyx storm spoilers #also not tagging this so it doesn’t break containment #you can go to Helena’s main post if you wanna reblog the good stuff

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