#ove bang

[germanpostwarmodern]

Villa Imset (1937) in Oslo, Norway, by Ove Bang

[katsurolle]

superbia voice. fusion is just a cheap tactic to make weak mechs stronger ..

[the0verboss]

Asked my husband to grab me a roll of toilet paper (cause heyoo the roll was empty) and he said no, but the Google AI heard me and was like "ok I'll be right back"

...excuse me?

And now I can't stop thinking about a random man from Google bursting into my house to hand me a roll of toilet paper. And he probably wouldn't have pelted me in the head with it like my husband did the little shit.

[yuuainya]

I don't believe it

ARKNIGHTS X AVE MUJICA COLLAB IS REAL

[germanpostwarmodern]

Villa Hansen (1937) in Oslo, Norway, by Ove Bang

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉 Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

[moremaybank]

Any Dad!JJ? You’re just one of the best at writing him.

dad!jj for the soul !!!!! i hope you enjoy, angel! i really enjoyed writing this one! 🤍

jj's elated when he sees his six year old babygirl, avery, walking out of her classroom. it's three-thirty on the dot, a time jj looks forward to daily when he picks up your daughter and takes her to work with him while they wait for you to meet them there after work.

avery reaches him, and he crouches down to her height so he can press a kiss to her cheek. "hi, babygirl."

"hi, daddy!"

he loves how chipper his little girl gets when she's around him. she lets it be known that she adores his presence, and that's what he's always dreamed of as a parent.

"mama killed it on your hair today," he says. he yanks gently at one of the braids you'd put into her hair earlier this morning. "look at these. phew. think my babygirl's a model."

she giggles at her father's affectionate words, cheeks heating with love. her squeals grow louder when jj scoops her up and makes his way to his truck. he buckles her into her booster seat, ruffling up the top of her hair playfully before shutting the door and getting into the driver's seat.

"hey, daddy?"

"'sup, aves?" he asks, pulling out of the parking lot and starting on the journey to the auto shop.

"what colours do boys like best?"

he arches a brow. "what d'ya mean, sweet girl?"

"dunno...like what colour do you like most on mama?"

"hmmm," jj says, pondering out loud. "that's a hard one, baby. i think your mama looks good in everythin'."

an adorable huff escapes her pursed lips. "daddy. 'm serious. you have to pick one."

the truck zooms down the road, passing by avery's favourite fast food joint. jj can't help but speed up just a smidge, hoping and praying that she won't look out the window and wrangle a chicken finger combo out of him. 'cause then he'd have to get one for her. he's never said no to his princess and he doesn't plan on changing that any time soon.

"mm, i guess i'd say red. i like when she wears that matching lipstick too."

jj looks up at the rear view mirror, catching the way avery nods before a presumable heat takes over her face. the dimple she'd gotten from him peeks through as she smiles to herself.

"what're you smilin' about?"

"nothing, daddy. i just think i'm gonna wear red for the dance tomorrow."

he arches a brow, but he doesn't push her on her answer. "whatever you want, babygirl."

˖ . ݁ 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

jj hears the click-clacking of high heels against the floors of the auto-shop, and he doesn't need to wheel out from underneath the station wagon he's working on to know it's you.

"hi, mommy!" avery greets cheerfully, getting off the spinning chair jj had secured for her from the break room. she runs over to you as quickly as her smaller feet can manage, and you meet her with an equally thrilled grin. you pick her up and squeeze her into a tight hug.

"hi, baby." you smooth down some of her frizz. "how was school?"

"it was good. chrissy shared her chocolate bar with me, and kyle gave me a flower at recess."

neither of you can see it, but jj makes a face under the car.

kyle? who the fuck was kyle?

"he's a good best friend to you, baby," you tell her. "did you thank him?"

"yes. and he's not my best friend anymore, mama. he's my boyfriend."

this time, you do see jj's reaction. or, rather, hear it anyway.

"what?!"

something that sounds like a bang rings through the air, followed by a shit (to which your daughter snickers, always one to find her father hilarious). then, he rolls out from beneath the vehicle, rubbing his forehead to ease the sharp pain. his eyes find your daughter's, though, and he's as stern as you've ever seen him.

"aves— you can't have a boyfriend!"

"daddy, i'm six. i'm not a baby," avery reminds him, sounding every bit like a teenager instead of her actual age. the sass never failed to make you smile.

just like her daddy.

"yes, you are still a baby! my baby!"

"j—" you interject.

"nah. nope. no way."

"why don't you go back over there and colour, angel?" she nods, and you set her down, watching as she runs back to her chair. she takes a sip of her apple juice, bringing her attention back to her artwork.

deciding she's not at all bothered by jj's theatrics, you walk over to him and help him stand. you look up into his cerulean eyes when he towers above you. "babe, relax. she's six."

"exactly! she's a baby! she can't have a boyfriend. s'just not happenin'."

you give him a knowing smile, your arms looping around the back of his neck. "you were my boyfriend when we were six," you remind him. "don't think you found anything wrong about that back then."

he frowns, but pulls you in closer by your hips anyway. no matter what, any time he's around you without touching you, it just seems like a waste.

"that's different. i was a nice boy."

you both realize avery's been listening quietly when she chimes in. "kyle's nice too, daddy. he kisses my cheek everyday at the end of school."

she says it like it's a fact. like kyle never misses out on what infuriatingly sounds like a tradition to jj.

jj thinks he's having a stroke.

"he's puttin' his lips on you, now?!" his forehead falls to your shoulder, and he slumps against you like the six-foot baby he is. "oh god, i think i'm gonna be sick." a beat passes, and then he distances himself from you. the sulk is still prominent on his face, and now, it's probably permanent. he pulls at his collar, shifting uncomfortably as he tries to fan himself off. "'m i sweating?"

avery hops down from her chair, strutting over to her father and tugging at the leg of his coveralls, silently requesting that he crouch down to her height. of course, jj immediately falls in line.

"don't be mad, daddy."

"wait, wait, wait— is kyle the reason you're wearin' red tomorrow?!"

"don't worry, daddy." she pats his cheek like he's the one who needs reassurance. to be fair, he clearly is. "kyle's nice. just like you."

and with that, she trots off back to her chair with a cheshire cat smile, clearly feeling accomplished.

"yeah. he better be," jj mutters bitterly, standing back up.

your hands reach out to grab a hold of your husband again, and it draws his attention back to you. your hands frame his face and you give him a smile. "you're gonna be a total nightmare when she grows up and gets a boyfriend or girlfriend for real."

"damn right, i will. like i said, she's my baby."

you raise a brow. "i thought i was your baby?"

his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then his mouth forms into a smirk. "see now, she's my baby. but you're my baby." his hands migrate down to your ass and he gives you a squeeze. "you pickin' up what i'm puttin' down?"

"oh, i think i am."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[germanpostwarmodern]

House Stousland II (1937) in Oslo, Norway, by Ove Bang

[yonch]

it's been 15 years and you can see better than ever

(design notes under the cut) (there are spoilers)

ok this got really long. here you go

sif:

ditched the cloak. it was collecting dust in their closet until recently, but they realized they don't need to cling to their grief so much anymore. someone else will need it more soon.

ditched the eyepatch. the prosthetic eye is a labor of love designed by isa, as is literally everything else they're wearing.

they cut their bangs finally and started braiding their hair back so it wouldn't obscure their vision as much anymore.

they like darker/tighter clothing and prefer function over form but unfortunately their gay ass boyfriend keeps treating them like a dress up doll so they're stuck wearing waistcoats and a fancy cloak. (they don't mind. it's designed to look like loop.) they keep flowers in their many pockets to give to people.

they're a woodworker in their free time. they don't usually talk about being any sort of savior so he just becomes sif the guy who's really good at carving birthday presents for people and also tags along with isa to charity parties and fundraisers

41 year old 5'1" they/he absolutely zero intention of Changing. bonded to isabeau. they adopted a kid who leo or i might post about some other time i think. her name is estelle.

isa: i'm not taking credit for the design that's by my friend @fembard /@leoweooo. i'll include his design notes

isa dresses mostly for comfort, he doesn't like wearing stuff that might get stained or ruined when he's dyeing clothes or chasing stelle around in the mud or something, all his fashion sense goes into his handiwork

he Changed a few more times over the 15yrs, eventually settled. picked up she/her pronouns again on the side but was never really able to ditch the name isabeau and he kinda ran out of names anyways...

kept the long hair, kept a few inches in height, very happy to fulfill the role of male (space) wife

can't ditch the kimono jacket it's the piece de resistance. odile influence and Wisening Of Age means its made with a little more knowledge of ka buan technique but still very clearly an Isa Design. the fabric is imported silk sif!!!!!!

39 year old Tall with a capital T he/she "i swear i'm not a weeaboo i'm just really into ka buan fashion" vaugardian indie clothing designer in your area help support this man in his attempts to use his family members as living advertisements for his brand

mira: with design input from @jastertown thank you my friend

i took a lot of inspiration for the sparkly, sheer fabric on her dress from euphrasie. she's not head housemaiden yet because she doesn't feel like she's ready but everybody knows it'll be her

speaking of inspiration. she's been taking a lot of fashion cues from a certain lady in dormont that she thought was kind of scary, but it turns out she's very nice? they're besties now.

she got rid of the earrings for a little bit but then she realized she just liked how they look on her. so now they go ding ding! it's for her and nobody else, and that's how she likes it.

moved her ornaments to her skirt because they ding ding more often there. her necklace also jingles with merriment.

38 year old she/her advanced cisgender+ legend who's realizing that people are trying to get her to be the pope but all she really wants to do is write yaoibait fiction that looks like it came straight off of ao3

odile:

my glorious hag. she started shrinking about 3 years ago. all those years of bending over books has finally caught up to her. her hips are fuuuuuucked. but she has a sick cane that sif carved for her so everything's okay

she was already pretty comfortable and settled in her sense of style when she was nearing 50 so i don't think she would change much. darker clothing maybe. ditched the high-waisted pants for some looser slacks.

she's started writing a familytale of her own. the only person she's told about it is bonbon, who caught her up way past their bedtime, and scribbled all over one of the pages. she'll pass it on to sif when the time's right, after she's written down everything she can remember about their family.

64 year old she/her wasian researcher recovering from hernia surgery who's getting really into things like "political activism" and "body craft law reformation in ka bue" and "making sure people aren't sourcing their hrt from back alleys"

bonnie:

prefers to go by boniface these days. it's cooler. more mature. please stop calling me bonbon that's a nickname from when i was 10 guys c'mon guys ugh fine frin you can still call me bonbon but not around my girlfriends ok (nobody calls them boniface except for odile)

speaking of which they have 3 butch lesbian girlfriends. this got established as a joke but i think they have it in them. they're still young!!!!!!! they should be at the club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

they traveled for a while with everybody but eventually settled down back in bambouche to start a little family owned restaurant with nille featuring dishes from all over the globe. people travel from all over to get a taste of boniface's good eats... bambouche is bustling. (they have a few recipes that are sourced from the country. they meet people every once in a while who find something achingly familiar about it, and they usually direct those people to jouvente to get in contact with frin.)

26 year old they/them "i dont know how tall i am but i'm taller than za" chef cooker whose restaurant keeps lighting on fire because this time i swear nille i can figure out how to do cooking craft i swear i wont explode the kitchen this time please i promise

loop:

ok. this is where lozy gets to just talk about what he thinks happens post game. i think they stick around for way longer than they really should and follow the crew around on their travels (mostly invisibly) because they're sooo fucking scared of change they're sooo scared and they're so scared of their wish fucking up beyond belief. they're kind of incapable of aging or dying in this body and theyre like permanently 26 which is what spurs them to finally move on.

i think they go back to their timeline eventually after making a Brand New Wish to "go back to their real family." alas the universe leads and we can only follow. and it turns out loop has actually made a real family in stardust's world also. this is my justification for why they can pop in between sasasap and isat worlds without much repercussion. i think they're always permanently loop shaped in isat but i imagine they can probably go back to their original body in their home timeline... might design that later. who knows. i'm fucked like that

i just think they deserve a chance for their own happy ending you know. isat's a game about how it's never too late to communicate and how you shouldn't punish yourself forever and ever. and i think theyve punished themself enough you know.

ok tank you for reading if you read this far. it's really big and long so i would understand if you didn't. but i hope you liked it. thoughts appreciated. here's a little something for the people who read all the way through.

[jjaehyunnxie]

possessive!jeno x reader, where jeno reminds reader who owns her after breaking up

a/n: this just fiction btw, nobody should treat you like this!!!

! MDNI, jeno is kinda mean, angry sex, unprotected (no!!)

“yn, open the door.” jeno’s text flashed on your screen. you sigh rolling your eyes, turning the phone screen-side down and resuming whatever you were watching on tv.

your phone buzzes. “jeno”. gosh, this guy can’t take a hint, can he?

“what!” you answer, pissed off at his constant persistence.

“yn. open the door while I’m being nice, okay?” he was breathless, like he’s been running to your place. his fists bang on the door.

you scoff, hanging up and dragging your steps to the door, unlocking it and peaking through. “jen, I already told you we’re ov—“

your words were swallowed up as Jeno pushes the door open, slamming it behind him as he pulls you in a desperate and rough kiss. “don’t fucking play with me. we both know you don’t mean that.” his hands grip at your hips possessively.

“what? I was very clear in what I said!”

“yeah? and you moved on so fast? not even a fucking week passed and I see you giggling and throwing suggestive glances at some random bastard! you need to be taught a proper lesson, don’t you?” his fingers dig into your hips, a sensation that spurs your stomach and makes your knees feel weak.

“It’s none of your business what I do! I already broke up with—“ jeno’s hand rushes to your throat, gripping onto it, thumb pressing hard and almost cutting your air supply.

“of course it’s my business. what’s mine is mine, right? how could I stay still while some fucker rubs his hand on my girl’s thigh like that, huh? that’s something only I get to do to you.”

just as your eyes were starting to tear up, he let’s go, leaving you coughing. he doesn’t let you rest for too long before you find your chest pressed against your tall windows, showing a gorgeous night city view. jeno holds your wrists together behind your back as his finger tugs at the hem of your shorts.

“now, let me remind you what the fuck you’re missing on, sweetheart.“ he says teasingly as his hand slips your shorts off, revealing your damp panties to him. “fucking hell. you fucking whore. got so wet from me choking you, huh?”

“n-no, that’s not…” you try to protest but you’re left choking on your words as his two fingers slip in you, going in deep and quickly finding that sweet spot that only he knew of. you couldn’t hold the desperate moans that startes to escape your lips, your breath fogging up the window as your face is pressed against the cold glass.

“need to show this whole city who the fuck you belong to. maybe that’ll teach you something, huh? take your top off.” he orders. you peak at him over your shoulder, his hair is messed up and his eyes are dark with lust and need. His eyebrow raises at your lack of response and gives your ass a harsh slap. “hello? I said take your top off.”

you oblige, fingers hesitating at the hem of your shirt before you pull it over your head, bare breasts set free with a bounce. “there we go, that’s more like it. now perk your ass up just like this and look out the window while I fuck this pretty pussy.”

the tip of his hard cock teases your entrance as he takes in your warmth before sliding it smoothly down your hole. “fuuuuckk…you’re perfect.” he murmurs under his breath, your slick walls dragging on him blurring his mind.

his thrusts are slow but deep, taking his time to slide out and before pushing roughly in you, hitting that sweet spot and making sure you feel every inch of him. maybe if he engraves that feeling in your mind, you’d know he’s the only one who can really fill you up like this.

he leans down to suck and bite at your back, leaving obvious marks of possession in places others could see.

jeno senses your walls throbbing around him, a signal he knew all too well. his thrusts become ragged, fingers digging into your hips as his eyes are fixed on the way your ass just sinks down onto his length.

“mm’jeno…” you mumble, your boobs pressed against the cold window, a grave contrast from your growing hot body.

“what is it? tell me, baby. I’m the only one who can give you what you need.”

“mmh, ‘gonna cum Jen.” you whine.

“beg for it.” he orders, but your mind is too foggy to hear his words. his hand lands on your ass again with a harsh slap. “I said fucking beg for it, slut! tell me who you wanna cum on!”

“wanna cum on jeno’s cock! fuck—please, give it to me, I promise I’ll be good…!”

“promise?” his voice is teasing, an obvious smirk could be heard from his tone. “yes..! yes, fuck, I promise!!” you whine, unable to hold your release in any longer.

“fucking cum on my cock, then. come on.” he growls, his hips slamming into you before you finally come undone on him, cunt clenching on his length.

you whine and cry, overwhelmed from your sensitive cunt as he continues to thrust into you. “shh, baby. jus’ a little more okay? wanna claim this fucking pussy.”

he shoots his ropes of hot cum in you, hips stuttering from the overstimulation. He’s quick to catch your body as it falls limp in his hands. “this better’ve taught you who really owns you.”

[vigilante-3073]

Pretty In Pink

James Wilson x Female Reader

Summary: House is curious about Wilson's newly formed relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department.

TW: Mentions of infidelity, questioning.

House sat in the clinic, loud music and sound effects echoing from the speaker of his Gameboy as he played his video game. A young boy sat on the examination table, kicking his scuffed up sneakers boredly as his mother stood beside him. The boy had an ear infection. It was a rather nasty case, but a treatment of antibiotics would resolve it pretty quickly.

The diagnosis was definitely not something House needed assistance with, but he had some questions for the head of Pediatrics.

Doctor L/N had been hired just over two years ago and had recently started seeing Wilson romantically. Wilson refused to give House any details about their relationship and he decided that he would find out for himself.

"What exactly are we waiting for, Doctor?" The patient's mother asked, crossing her arms as she shifted on her feet.

"A consult," House replied without looking up from his screen.

"But I thought it was just an ear infection, is it something worse?" The mother asked.

"Maybe... That's why we're waiting for the consult," House said.

A gentle knock sounded on the door before it opened and Doctor L/N stepped into the room, "Ah, Doctor L/N, how nice of you to join us," House said, tucking his Gameboy into his pocket.

"Hello, I'm Doctor L/N. What seems to be the problem?" She asked, using some hand sanitizer before making her way over to the boy and his mother.

"How was your date? Wilson was stingy with the details," House questioned.

"I don't think this is the most appropriate place to be discussing this, House," She said, sending the young boy and his mother a reassuring smile.

"Oh, don't worry about them, they're fine," House assured.

"We can talk later, House," She said, turning her attention to the young boy, "What seems to be the problem?" L/N questioned.

"Oh, he has an ear infection," House stated, "Just needs some antibiotics," He continued.

"You called me to consult on an ear infection?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"No, I wanted you to tell me about your date with Wilson," House said.

Y/N sighed, pulling her prescription pad from the pocket of her lab coat. She removed a sparkly pink pen from her pocket and wrote out an order on the script.

"I wrote you a prescription for antibiotic ear drops. You pull the earlobe up and back before putting the drops in. The ear should be kept upwards for five minutes after giving each dose," Doctor L/N said, tearing off the slip and passing it to the mother.

"Thank you so much," The woman said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, and I have some stickers that you can pick from for being so brave today," L/N said, pulling out a variety of brightly colored stickers from her pocket and holding them out in front of the boy.

The boy smiled widely, eyes scanning the stickers before taking a superhero one, "Mom, look," He said proudly, holding up the sticker.

"Come to my office when you're done your clinic hours," Doctor L/N said softly to House.

"But you already made the trip down, it would be cruel to make a cripple travel all that way," House argued.

"You have more patients to see and I'm not helping you weasel your way out of clinic duty. Come and see me later if you want to talk," L/N smiled, making her way out of the room and closing the door.

...

House made his way through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro on his way to L/N's office. Doctor L/N was an incredibly kind woman who was amazing with her patients, which is probably what drew Wilson to her in the first place.

But House didn't like to share his toys, especially when it was unclear who he was sharing them with.

House banged the handle of his cane on the door to her office, "Come in," She called from inside.

House opened the door and stepped into her office, "Miss me?" House asked, closing the door behind himself before making his way over.

"How was the clinic?" L/N asked without looking up from her patient file.

"Amazing, I'm saving the world one runny nose at a time," House replied sarcastically, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs in front of her desk, "Comfy," He mused.

His eyes flickered around her office, the shelves were lined with photographs and a few pink trinkets. One corner of the room contained a variety of children's toys and craft supplies along with a small table.

The room was warm and inviting with pink items in every corner. Now that he thought about it, House had never seen the young woman wear anything other than various shades of pink.

The original tip-off to House about Wilson's new relationship with the head of the Pediatrics Department was a blush pink tie he had bought for himself.

People could be so easy to read sometimes.

House's eyes finally returned to her figure, not at all shocked to see the pale pink dress that she had been wearing underneath her lab coat.

"Big fan of pink?" House questioned rhetorically, tapping his cane on the floor in front of his chair.

L/N closed the patient file, setting her pink pen on the desktop as she looked up at him, "What can I help you with, Doctor House?" She asked.

"You and Wilson," He stated, bright blue eyes scrutinizing her from across the desk.

"We've been on six dates and there will most likely be more," L/N said.

House narrowed his eyes, "What do you like about him?" House asked.

"He is the kindest man I've ever known. He's smart, handsome and a complete gentleman. And he's devoted to his work," L/N replied.

"Do you see a future with him? Marriage? Kids?" House asked.

She smiled, "I'd like to think so, somewhere way down the road, but I can't speak for Wilson," Doctor L/N said. House nodded as he processed her reply, shifting his cane in his grasp.

"Do you have any other questions for me, Doctor House?" She asked.

"Did you know he's been unfaithful before?" He questioned, watching her facial expression closely.

"I did, yes," L/N nodded.

"But you're still with him? Most women your age would run the other way from a guy with a history of infidelity. You're young, pretty and smart. You have options... So, why settle for him?" House asked.

She huffed a laugh, "There's no settling when you care about someone, House. You take them for who they are and decide to love them anyway, faults and all," L/N said.

"Why are you answering my questions?" House asked, "You could have told me to kick rocks and avoided this altogether, but you didn't," He stated.

"You're his best friend, House. If I'm going to be a part of his life, I have to be okay with you being a part of it too," L/N said with a small smile.

House stared at her for a second, "I like you," He said.

A soft knock sounded on the door before it opened and Wilson poked his head into the office. His brow furrowed slightly in concern when he saw House sitting in front of her desk.

"Is everything okay?" Wilson asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself.

"Yep, we were just having girl talk," House said, standing up from his seat and walking over to the door.

"She's all yours," House said, stepping out into the hallway and limping off in the direction of his office.

"Did he say anything I should be concerned about? Because I can easily arrange a date that is so amazing that you would be willing to forgive my awful choice in friends," Wilson said.

L/N smiled, shaking her head, "He was actually pretty sweet," She replied.

"I knew he must be sick, that doesn't sound like House at all," Wilson joked with a smile.

"He cares about you," Doctor L/N said, standing from her chair and making her way over to him.

"In his own messed up way? Yes," Wilson said, wrapping his arms around her waist when she was close enough.

L/N wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair, "I really like you, James," She said.

"Good, because I really like you too," Wilson replied, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away after a moment, staring down at her lovingly.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" L/N asked, hands sliding down to adjust his pale pink tie instinctively.

"For you? I have all the time in the world," Wilson replied.

[chans1aptop]

yep this was beautiful and wrecked me wonderfully😗

Channie. Chris. ( bang chan )

MDNI ! 18+ CONTENT AHEAD !

smut and fluff. bang chan x afab! reader (nn: sweet girl used once). Unprotected sex (wrap it pls ffs). Breeding. Slight edging. I love u's during it. Can be considered soft dom chan, but there really are no roles here, yall.

Chan is such a soft lover. The type to wrap around your waist in the kitchen and kiss your shoulder, swaying you back and forth in a slow waltz. The type to kiss your neck as you let him message it. The type to go out of his way to get you something you want or like.

The type to hold an extra pair of shoes for you in case the heels you're wearing start to hurt. The type to love casual affection. The type to hold your hand and listen to you ramble with the most content and focused expression on his face. Chan was that type of lover.

Chan is also the type of lover to fold you in half as he gives you the dicking of a lifetime. With your legs over his broad shoulders and singing the sweet music only he knows how to drive out of you.

Watching your glistening cunt catch in the night light and shine with slick, creamy from the previous orgasms he has already pried out of you and yet- he's still to reach his own peak everytime he sinks back in to the hilt. Catching himself and slowing down to edge it on- he loves to talk you through it when he does it.

"Gonna cum soon sweetheart?" he'd murmur, husky and out of breath from the brutal pace he's already set for the two of you, slowing down til his thrusts are pushing you- digging deeper and deeper into your cunt until theres no space for him to go. "You're so good for me, baby. Gonna fill you real good, okay?" You're folded, yet he leans down to place his strong arms by your head. You're fucked out and it's all thanks to your boyfriend- your lover.

And he has the guts to smile, to bite his lip and kiss the corner of your mouth, leaning more of his weight onto the bed so he's practically on you- one with you. "Talk to me pretty," he'd ask again, stopping abruptly, then slowing to a grind- torture of pleasure on his handsome face, his cockhead hitting a part of you that has only ever been reached by him.

"I-I'm channie-" you hiccup as quietly as you can manage, jolting in his grasp due to the way everytime he does it, your clit throbs- sore from so many orgasms before, and you whimper once again when he slows down even more, telling you to respond in his own way. "Channie, need you to cum in me please- please please" you'd bargain- chans got a thing for breeding.

"Yeah? Say please one more time f'me-" His tired voice asks, his face hovering over yours. He watches your expressions - your feelings and the satisfaction of his sped up pounding wash over you. "My sweet girl, fuck-" he hisses when you clench again and again- signaling you're going to cum for the 4th time soon.

"Please- oh fuck- chan- chris," you whimper his name once again, something different this time - his name, which you know gets to him. That makes him weak in the knees, soft and mushy.

The way chan has you is everything to him - you're perfect, made just for him and him for you. He can't wait to marry you one day, to put a giant ring on your finger and settle down. You're everything to him- always have been- always will be.

And with another hard slam of his hips, you're scrunching up around him, calling his name with a shriveled cry and digging your nails into his back, not like he minds. Legs squeezing over his shoulder until he drops them down to place himself back between your parted and soaked thighs, hiking them up and over his arms to keep you spread for his wide form.

"Almost there baby, where d'you want it?" He groans, and it reverbs off his chest into yours, his head falling into the junction of your neck to place a sloppy kiss over the countless red blots of hickeys lining up over you. You shake with every push, every pull of his hips, and how hard he drills his cock into you, pumping you with his entire length and dragging out your already exhausting orgasm.

"In-" you stutter, whimpering once more when his dark happy trails skims over your clit from another thrust. "In me, inside chan, please chris?" And oh- it's everything to have you beg for him like this. His cock twitches- his groan deeper this time as he nears his peak.

The harder he bucks inside you, the farther you slip into his lap, his knees placed under you, your body halfway over his strong thighs, he holds you tight there with a grip to your waist, blow after blow, grunt after moan. His eyebrows scrunching, and his eyes locking with yours as he pulls back to lean his head on your forehead.

"I- fuck baby i love you so much," he strains as finally, his eyes drift shut and his face scrunches with pure unaltered bliss, his mouth falling slack. His cum floods you, warm and sticky and so much it has you gasping- his hips stuttering.

He falls over you with a heavy- breathless sigh, his sticky naked skin sticking to yours. You're finally able to catch your breath as well, thighs trembling from around his waist and then unfolding to straighten out cause they're sore, obviously. Chan breathes against you, steadying his breath and listening to yours do the same, your heart pounds against his chest and everything just feels to right to move.

He places a sweet kiss against your jaw, tugging himself to lean on his arm. His face is soft- lax and red. Yours is probably dazed, and fucked to oblivion. But chan smiles anyways, kissing you as softly as he's done hundreds of times before.

"You okay?" He questions with a hum, lips stretching out and his eyes curling to showcase how he's genuinely asking. You blink up at him. "I love you too, chris," you murmur sweetly. Chan falters, a chuckle bubbling up from his throat fondly before you pull him down into your embrace.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes, yeah?" He laughs into your shoulder. You hum happily, content to be in his strong arms and tough figure. Soft and warm and giving. Ready to show you in every way how much he adores and loves you. Just you.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 49 Chapter 49 | the weight of waking⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You woke up with a gasp.

The sound tore from your throat like it had been waiting at the base of your lungs for hours. You lurched upright, eyes wide, chest heaving—air hitting your tongue like saltwater. For a terrifying moment, you couldn't tell if you were breathing or drowning again.

The world around you felt wrong—not dangerous, not deep—but like something was missing. The pressure. The cold. The weight of the sea pressing in on all sides. Your body still remembered it. Your bones did too. It clung to you like seaweed you couldn't peel off.

Your ears rang.

And through the ringing... you still heard them.

Eurylochus' voice—quiet, brittle, bleeding with memory.

"We weren't supposed to eat them."

"She waited too long."

"Tell me... would you have done the same?"

And behind his words, the others.

Five hundred mouths without sound.

A thousand hands reaching out with want and nothing.

You could still feel their stories—curling up your spine like fog. Like if you opened your mouth, their words would pour out instead of yours.

Your eyes darted around.

You weren't in the graveyard.

You weren't underwater.

But your skin didn't know that yet.

Your body was soaked in sweat, sticky against the linen shift you'd slept in. Your hair clung to your neck, matted and damp, like the sea had followed you here in ghost form. Your hands trembled as you lifted them, like you expected to see sea glass instead of skin.

The small room swam around you—familiar, safe, and yet your heart still pounded like you were trapped below.

Then—a soft sound.

A whine.

Lady.

She pressed gently into your side, her nose nuzzling against your ribs, warm and solid and here. When you didn't move right away, she laid her head on your stomach—slow, careful, like she knew you weren't all the way back yet.

You swallowed hard.

Your hand found her fur, fingers curling tight against it, like she was the anchor and you were still floating.

Your breath slowed. Not easily. Not fast. But it did.

In.

Out.

Not salt. Not silt. Just... air.

You blinked slowly, heart still banging against your ribs like it didn't trust what it was seeing. The soft creak of wood under your hip reminded you: a cot. Not a seabed.

The room swayed gently, not with panic, but with the rhythm of waves.

Your eyes shifted to the far wall—where the porthole sat cracked open just a little.

Light filtered through it. Pale and soft, like early dawn. The sky outside was blushing gray-blue, streaks of gold just beginning to wake the world. You watched it move for a long moment—watched the sun come alive again. Watched proof you were back.

Ithaca's ship. On course for Lyraethos.

You were still going.

You were still here.

Then—a small knock.

You startled.

Lady didn't move, but her ears perked.

"Um—?" Eben's small voice came through the door, muffled but sweet. "You awake? I brought some breakfast rolls. And fruit. And I stole a bit of honey but don't tell the cook. He thinks I'm still asleep."

You exhaled. A real breath this time.

"...I'm coming," you called back, voice a little hoarse but steady enough.

There was a pause. Then a soft, triumphant "Okay!" followed by retreating steps and what you were pretty sure was him sneaking one of the rolls for himself.

You leaned your head back against the wall. Closed your eyes.

Lady huffed softly, her tail thumping twice against the floor.

You reached down, brushing your knuckles against her ear. "I know, girl," you whispered.

Three days in a graveyard... and you still hadn't fully left it.

But your body remembered now. The way light felt. The way wood creaked. The way air sounded when it didn't beg to be earned.

And you'd carry that with you.

Right up to Lyraethos.

Right to the start of everything.

.☆.    .✩.       .☆.

You sat cross-legged beside Eben in a small tucked-away corner of the deck—wedged behind a coil of thick rope and an overturned barrel that shaded you both from the early sun. It wasn't exactly a bench or a proper seat, but Eben had called it "the best lookout spot on the ship," so you didn't argue.

Lady dozed at your feet, her chin resting on her paws, tail occasionally twitching at the cries of passing gulls.

The sea glittered bright and calm beyond the railing, waves slapping gently against the hull. It was hard to believe a storm had ever touched this place.

Eben stuffed a bit of dried fig in his mouth and launched into his next round of updates—his seventh, by your count.

"And then—after the storm just stopped, I mean like poof, like someone flipped a switch—After that? Everything went... better. Like weird-better. Fish keep swimming straight into the nets. Wind had been steady. Sun had been out three days in a row."

He shifted, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes bright with the thrill of retelling.

"And then—" he slapped his palms together for effect, "BOOM! One strike of lightning. Just one. Across a totally clear sky. The sails didn't even twitch, but the whole ship tilted like something shoved it. Hard."

You blinked. "And that's when they saw me?"

He nodded quickly. "Floating. Just... there. In a nest of seaweed, like a bird dropped you in the wrong part of the ocean."

You grimaced faintly, rubbing your arm. "Charming."

Eben grinned. "It was kinda scary-looking, honestly. Your hair was all floating around your face. And your eyes were still closed. One of the older sailors thought you were an omen. Like... like a sea bride or something sent to lure the crew."

You raised your brows. "Was that before or after they hauled me aboard?"

Eben snorted. "After. Captain thought we were in some sort of divine trick, so no one moved at first. I mean it. Everyone just... stared. It took another thunderclap to convince them. The second lightning hit the water, and the waves shoved the boat; half the deck dropped to their knees. They didn't even tie you up or poke you with a stick or anything." He paused, then looked thoughtful. "Okay, maybe one guy did, but Lady barked so loud he tripped over a coil of rope and nearly cracked his skull."

Your mouth twitched. "Good girl."

Lady let out a small woof in her sleep, as if in agreement.

Eben leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky like it might throw out another miracle just for fun. "Actually, we're ahead of schedule."

You frowned a little, glancing toward the bow where a cluster of sailors had begun shouting to one another—loud and fast. Giving directions.

Beyond that, you the distant outline coming into view over the horizon. A thin stretch of land, green along the edges, with what looked like pale cliffs and a few watch-fires flickering faintly along the dock.

"Did we reach Lyraethos already?" you asked, pushing up slightly. "I thought the trip was supposed to be two, maybe three weeks."

Eben followed your gaze, eyes narrowing at the voices. "Yeah, it is." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "We're not there yet. We're stopping at an in-between island."

You tilted your head.

"Port Telonia," he explained proudly, like he'd studied a map or two. "Named after the messenger god's old port. Or tavern. Depends on who's telling the story. Hermes used to visit there back when gods still walked in sandals."

You blinked. "So... a supply stop?"

He nodded. "Yup. Lots of merchant ships swing through. Easy harbor. Good for fresh water, fruit, sometimes minor repairs. We lost a few fastenings during the storm. Captain figured it's smarter to check everything now before we hit open sea again."

You looked past him, toward the approaching land.

The ship rocked slightly beneath your feet as the wind picked up—brisk and sure, not stormy.

You didn't feel panic this time.

Just a strange sense of stillness.

You rested a hand on Lady's back, fingers brushing through her fur.

Port Telonia.

A stopover.

A place for travelers.

Let's see what you find.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

The moment the ship kissed the dock, everything shifted. The hush of sea gave way to the stomp of boots, the hiss of ropes uncoiling, the murmur of orders and greetings.

The crew moved fast—half because they were practiced, half because solid ground meant food, drink, and rest that didn't sway underfoot.

You stayed where you were, perched on the edge of the deck with Lady at your heel and Eben bouncing from foot to foot beside you, trying not to look excited—but failing.

Then the captain found you.

He strode across the planks with a quiet kind of authority, boots thudding with each step. His beard still held salt at the ends, and his sleeve was rolled from where he'd been checking the hull riggings himself. He stopped a few paces from you and gave a short nod—not quite warm, but not unfriendly either.

"We'll be here overnight," he said. "Maybe two if the carpenters need it. Took more damage than we thought near the lower rig." His eyes flicked to Lady, then back to you. "You'll go ashore with Eben and a few others. There's a place near the town square. Decent inn. They'll have a room ready."

You nodded once, keeping your expression steady.

"Rest," he added. "That's an order."

You almost smiled at that. "Aye, captain."

With a wave of his hand, he was off again, barking new directions before his coat had even settled behind him.

A few minutes later, you were descending the gangplank with Eben, Lady, and four other sailors you barely knew by name.

The sun was lower now, warm and gold across the stones of the dock, painting the water in long streaks of orange and glassy blue. The town of Telonia bustled ahead of you—stacked in pale stone and leaning wood, with open plazas and winding alleys blooming with fruit stalls and bright-colored linens.

You felt eyes on you the moment your boots hit the ground.

Not just from the sailors or the children weaving through the crowds—but from the air itself.

As if the island knew.

As if it had been waiting.

You didn't speak right away. Just walked. One hand on Lady's bow, the other loose at your side. Your dagger was hidden beneath your coat, sheathed but close.

The sound of the port grew louder as you stepped deeper into it. People shouted from awnings and porches, voices rich with dialects you didn't recognize. Merchants haggled. Sailors laughed. Dogs barked and children wove between carts like fish through nets.

Then—voices near the fish market caught your ear.

"Did you hear?" one woman said, setting a basket down with a grunt. "{The oracles are leaving at sunrise."

"From Delphi?" another asked, wide-eyed.

"Aye. Whole ship full of 'em," the woman confirmed. "Stopped here last night. Said it was a rest stop on their way back to the temple. Needed the sea to 'breathe on them,' or something sacred like that."

"Pfft," a man nearby scoffed. "They just wanted fresh wine. Always some grand prophecy, but half of 'em couldn't see past the bottom of their goblets."

Another man laughed but then leaned in, muttering under his breath, "Still... might see if one of them has a moment. I've got a question or two I'd pay to get answered. The kind only gods whisper about."

"Good luck," someone replied. "They're guarded tight. Most of 'em won't even look you in the eye unless they're in trance."

You blinked.

Delphi.

The temple.

Your mind ticked through that name like it had teeth. Sacred vows. Pilgrimage. A full ship of psychics. Prophets. Tied to Apollo, no doubt.

You didn't say anything. But you filed the words away in the back of your mind.

Just in case.

The path veered right as the crowd thinned. Eben led the way now, practically bouncing as he pointed toward a three-story building nestled at the corner of a cobbled square. A faded wooden sign hung over the door, carved with the shape of winged sandals and a winding scroll.

"The Quicktongue!" he chirped. "Papa told me how the founder was a priest of Hermes—or a smuggler pretending to be one. Either way, we'll get a warm bed and some stew."

The place looked older than the rest of the town, but sturdy. Smoke drifted from the chimney. Laughter floated from the windows.

The inn creaked as you stepped inside.

Not in a haunted way—more like a pair of old knees. Tired but familiar. The walls were close, the ceiling low, and the space was... cluttered. That was the nicest word for it.

Shelves lined every wall, stacked high with dusty scrolls, chipped cups, coins from islands you'd never heard of, and small statues of gods with varying degrees of artistic skill. One shelf held what looked like a taxidermy owl with a pipe in its beak. Another had a cracked amphora labeled DO NOT OPEN (unless cursed) in three languages.

The smell of roasted herbs and old wood filled the air, along with the tang of whatever someone was drinking at the bar to your left—an open space ringed with mismatched stools and a wall of bottles that looked like they hadn't been dusted since Hermes wore real sandals.

The floor sloped a little.

The lamp near the front desk flickered like it had opinions.

Eben, of course, loved it immediately. "Cool," he breathed, eyes wide as he spun slowly in place.

You were still trying to figure out if that personality would murder you in your sleep or knit you a sweater.

Before you could say anything, a voice called from behind the bar.

"Guests?" it rasped, like the word itself offended him. "No, no, no. I didn't schedule guests. No one books this place on purpose."

You turned.

The innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar with the energy of a man who both owned the building and resented it deeply.

He was tall, sun-touched, with dark curls pulled into a half-tail, gold rings in both ears, and a crooked grin that could sell stolen figs to a fig farmer. His tunic was wrinkled. His sandals didn't match. And his entire aura screamed scheming bastard in the way that made you instantly like him.

"I should rob you all blind," he muttered, hands on his hips. "Unexpected patrons. Traveling with kids and dogs. Probably gods, too. I should triple the rates. I should—"

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

He blinked once.

Twice.

His head tilted slowly. Eyes narrowed. He stepped forward just a bit, as if to get a better look—then squinted like you were the puzzle piece that didn't fit the rest of the picture. "Hold on a second."

You blinked.

"—Παναγία μου**..." he swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

He blinked again. Then laughed—sharp, one-note, like something had clicked. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing as he dipped into a dramatic bow. "Well I'll be," he said, voice sing-song and full of mockery now. "Master told me to be courteous today. Said I'd know why."

He straightened with a flourish and gave you a wink. "Guess I do now."

You stared. "...What?"

But he was already waving you off. "Come on. Come on, little stormbait. Got just the room for you. Don't look so scared—I'm generous when I'm confused."

Eben followed eagerly. You followed because Lady did, and she clearly trusted him. That said more than anything else.

The stairs groaned as you climbed them.

The room was on the top floor—second door from the end.

The man unlocked it with a key pulled from somewhere you didn't want to think too hard about. Then shoved the door open with his shoulder and stepped aside.

"Best room in the place," he announced proudly.

And he wasn't lying.

The room was still chaotic, but in a cozy way. There was a real bed—full-sized, wide, carved wood frame with faded linen sheets that smelled of lavender and maybe just a hint of lemon wine.

There were two chairs, a basin in the corner, a set of cracked shutters letting in pale light, and a cluster of wind chimes made of old shell rings hanging just above the window. They tinkled faintly in the breeze.

Books were stacked in uneven towers beside the bed.

A rug covered half the floor.

A wooden tray with honey cakes and figs waited on the bedside table, like the room itself had been prepping.

You stood there, half-suspicious.

"See?" the innkeeper said, grinning. "Almost makes up for the owl with the pipe downstairs."

Eben darted past you, practically vibrating, then plopped into one of the chairs with wide eyes. "This is the nicest room I've ever been in."

You nodded slowly. "Thank you."

The man gave you another look—half-measured, half-curious—and muttered something like "No lightning yet... that's a good sign."  Then he turned, ruffling Eben's curls.

"I've gotta pop back to the dock," he called over his shoulder. "Check in with your crew. If the rest are anything like you, I'm gonna need stronger wine."

"I'm coming too!" Eben blurted, already leaping to his feet. "I wanna help bring the others."

He grabbed a honey cake off the tray and followed the man out the door without waiting for your answer.

The innkeeper paused at the landing. Looked back at you.

"I'll stop by later," he said, voice softer now. "See if you need anything."

Then they disappeared down the stairs together, already halfway into a conversation about goats, storms, or something in between.

You stood in silence for a moment, then flopped onto the bed.

Lady jumped up beside you.

And gods—It was soft.

So soft you might've believed it was conjured. The kind of bed that held you, like it had been waiting just for your weight to arrive.

You lay back slowly.

Closed your eyes.

Lady curled beside you, head resting on your thigh, warm and steady.

You didn't open your eyes.

Didn't move.

Just... let yourself breathe.

The mattress cradled you in a way the sea never could. Like it wanted you to stay. Your limbs felt boneless, your spine finally starting to uncoil.

You could still feel the hum of saltwater behind your ears. Like it had soaked into your bones. Like if you opened your mouth too wide, the sea might come pouring back out.

You exhaled through your nose and sank further into the sheets.

You didn't mean to think about Ithaca.

But your mind wandered anyway.

You imagined the king—Odysseus—sitting behind that massive desk, fingers steepled, jaw tight, staring you down with that low, quiet fury he didn't need to voice. That 'I told you' look. The kind that made your stomach twist even when he wasn't angry. Just... disappointed.

Then Penelope. Her voice. Gentle but sharp. She'd say your name like it was a question and an accusation all at once.

And gods.

Telemachus.

You didn't even want to imagine it.

He'd probably try to lock you in the palace wing. Again. No door left unguarded, no outing unaccompanied. You could see it already—his hands gripping your shoulders, his voice cracking with guilt and something sharper.

"I told you not to go alone."

But what would you even say?

That Poseidon himself pulled you under?

That you survived three days in the deep, surrounded by dead men and half-memories?

No.

You shook your head slightly and pressed your face deeper into Lady's fur.

Stop thinking. It's over.

You were here now. Dry. Breathing. Alive.

And you still had work to do. Answers to find. A city to reach.

But first...

You needed just a little more time.

Just a little.

Well... after a nap.

You curled your fingers gently through Lady's thick fur, soft and warm and smelling faintly of salt and ash and home. She shifted once, letting out a small sigh, and tucked her nose against your ribs.

Your breathing slowed to match hers.

Eyes still closed, your hand resting over her back, the weight of sleep pulling at your bones.

Your face buried in her fur.

And for a little while... the world could wait.

You slept.

Together.

Quiet.

Safe.

For now.

**Παναγία μου - Holy mother... (another way of saying 'No fuckin way' lololol))

A/N: ahhh! everyday i come here and i'm just blow away by the numbers 😭😭❤️ i'm even getting comments from people telling me my lil fic even inspired them to make thier owns 🥹 but yeah thank you all for the support, i hope i can keep the streak up and if not, i'll be forever happy for this lil pocket of fame y'all gave me--like the 12 year old in me is screaming 😭❤️ but yes, i'm not sure which a/n i mentioned it in but i have an isekai fic already planned set in 'godly things' universe!!! like ahh! it's literally the only reason i made this fanfic hahahah, but yes i can't wait! 

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ but before you all continue, i have an announcemtn, after a few lines dashes beneath my regualr fanart submission, i have been sent some nsfw stuff that i'm estatic to share (so plz if you don't want to see it, thats fine, jus scroll along while the rest of us go wild for some drawn tits/pecs 😩❤️) (email: wattywriter04@gmail.com | tumblr: winaxity-ii)

from anon0219

HELLOOOO this is absolutely precious 😭🧎‍♀️ I literally gasped when I saw the pose. The hands, the eyes, the subtle little smile—you NAILED that sweet mix of humility and boldness she's been dancing between lately. Also Hermes rubbing off on MC is such a funny but ACCURATE note?? It's giving, "please, but I already know you'll say yes" energy. Which is exactly where she is right now in the story. She's still respectful... but she's learning how to ask without shrinking. AND THE OUTFIT?? I love that you thought about the colors reflecting her growth. That deepening red on the trim and belt?? The way you kept the silhouette simple but clean (and yeah no stress about the historical chiton stuff, she's literally in a myth fanfic LOL we bend rules here) just makes her pop even more. She's becoming dangerous fr 😭THANK YOU AGAIN for blessing me with this🧎‍♀️💕 I adore seeing your interpretations of her. Please never stop.

from simp_0207

NOOOO THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹🫶 The curls??? The sweet little eye sparkles??? The sun tattoo and her soft necklace detail?? I literally squealed. You captured a whole vibe with this, like—this feels like MC on a peaceful morning, post-drama, just smiling at someone she loves from across the garden 🥲The pencil work and shading??? STUNNING. Her curls are so fluffy and full and the sun necklace placement is just chef's kiss. Thank you so much for sharing this—I'm seriously honored every time someone draws her 🥹💛

from fvckcare

OH. MY. GODS. YOU ATE WITH THIS??? 😭🗡️💙💚THIS IS EVERYTHING I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED 😭💍Andreia and MC together?? Serving royal duo-core?? The power, the fabric, the EYE CONTACT??? Like I know this was supposed to be a wedding portrait but honestly this feels more dangerous—like two women who've learned to weaponize beauty and diplomacy and now you should be afraid. MC in Ithaca's blue?? The elegance, the pearls, the soft curls—SHE'S SERVING "I look good because I'm loved and favored, not because I'm trying to impress you." And then there's ANDREIA??? The emerald green, the SNAKE TATTOO, the lazy smirk that says "I know secrets that could end bloodlines"—yeah, she wins. She wins fashion. She wins menace. I would commit war crimes for her. Also the little doodle of the fangirling Telemachus in the corner?? Crying. Screaming. Throwing myself into the sea. 💀 Thank you for blessing my day with this absolute MASTERPIECE. The wedding is canceled, the girls are eloping.

from blasted-bass

NO NO NO THIS IS PERFECTTTT 😭🪈💘 You don't understand—I saw this and immediately heard a panflute and some messy giggling. Like. You nailed his whole aura. I AM SCREECHINGGGG 😭😭😭The little  "grown ahh man" note???? "Teasing MC 101"??? THE PANFLUTE??? No bc this is Callias if you distilled him down to vibes and serotonin. His face in the center??? It's giving "I'm trouble but I'm pretty enough to get away with it." You understood the assignment. Also—please don't say sorry for this 😭 this is like a love letter to chaos incarnate and you executed it flawlessly. You have officially unlocked: ✅ Fluffy menace ✅ Golden retriever bard energy ✅ "Would get punched by Telemachus for being too familiar" core THANK YOU FOR DRAWING HIM!!! I will be treasuring every one of these expressions. And yes. I am hearing panflute noises in the distance now. 😌

from skibidi toilet

NOOOO THIS IS SO STUPIDLY CUTE I CAN'T FUNCTION 😭😭😭Like. "Can I please see my parents?"— WITH THE PUPPY EYES — right next to that cold-blooded resting bitch face?? That's divine duality right there. That's the "Apollo blessed me but I have anxiety" pipeline in chibi form. 😭 The little "May Apollo bless her" note at the top?? No literally. Someone better start lighting incense because this girl is gonna accidentally spark a god war just by existing. And the oversized glasses??? The limp little braid??? The "I'm a silly little girl (with a body count)" energy??? PERFECTION. You succeeded in making her look silly, but like... in that intentionally misleading way where everyone underestimates her until it's too late 💅 She will cry and then win the entire narrative arc. Thank you for this glorious chaos, I love her SO much 🫶🫶

from gigi (wattpad said it was too large so i had to ss 😡🥲)

I actually gasped?? Like this is so delicately powerful it feels like a whispered warning in the middle of spring. This whole gif feels like the calm before someone burns down an altar in your name. Thank you SO much for making this—it's haunting and beautiful and I’m gonna stare at it every time I write a foreshadow-heavy scene 😭💌

from chari

STOPPP THIS IS SO CUTE IT HURTS 😭🎮✨ Not you turning MC into a modern-day gamer girl AU with lore-stuffed background details like it's season three of a show???? The hoodie, the headphones, the slightly-tired stare??? She's been gaming for six hours straight and is one "Divine Intervention pls" chat message away from rage-quitting. 💀 AND THE BACKGROUND DETAILS!!! You were not joking—there’s SO much going on back there and I'm LIVING. Lady head peaking from behind the desk?? The cluttered shelf behind her energy?? Is that a mini plushie weapon beside her hand or Andreia corpse 😭?? I SCREAMED. You said "I'm not good at drawing clothes" and then gave MC the ✨perfect✨ oversized cozy fit and layered accessories like a whole character designer. Be serious 😤 Thank you for this modern AU moment!! I'll now be imagining her whispering into her mic: "Chat… do I romance the moody prince or the god with commitment issues?"

from gab137507

STOP. You just casually unlocked an AU that has NO RIGHT to go this hard 😭🩸The laurels? The expression?? That quote in the background—"I'm done playing games. I am who I am." I felt that in my soul. This is MC if she took everything that was done to her—everything—and turned it into quiet, calculated control. I can already hear Andreia gasping at a dinner party when MC drops a veiled insult too sharp to ignore. I am obsessed. Please write the rest of this AU immediately. 😭🕯️

No because this one hurt. That soft smile in the "before" sketch?? "Never a frown"? And then we see her after—the same face, same features, but weighed down by responsibility, crowned in divine favor like it’s a burden more than a blessing. The "with golden brown..." note??? That made me ache. Like you can literally feel the warmth draining out of her life when she starts to realize the cost of being favored. She looks regal. But tired. A little lonelier. This felt like watching her lose pieces of herself panel by panel. You really captured that tragedy without needing a single drop of color. ALSO—don't even apologize for quality, these sketches are STUNNING. The emotion is loud, and I love the ASoIaF inspo (bc SAME. I was just talking about how Divine Liaison MC is giving "cursed crown" energy with my sis). I will absolutely take more if you're cooking them 🫡❤️

from iconic-idiot-con

NOOOOO BECAUSE THIS??? This isn't just fanart. This is narrative. The way MC's body is already moving away—tense, twisting, resisting—but that golden leash is pulling her back?? And Apollo's face??? That carefree, gleaming expression like he doesn't even realize he's hurting her (or worse—he does and he thinks it's divine affection). The glow, the collar detail,. the facial expressions?? You didn't miss a single note. This is exactly what divine favor in Godly Things looks like: beautiful, blinding, and lowkey horrifying when you realize you can’t walk away. You ATE. Thank you for this absolutely deranged masterpiece, I'm always so happy tp see what you have for me 😭✨

now on to the nsfw... I REFUSE NOTHING BUT PRAISE FOR THESE 😤😤 tr

from iconic-idiot-con [HAD TO REMOVE/EDIT DUE TO WATTPAD 😭💔🥀]

HELPPP 😭😭 Not the way I screamed "GOOD FOR HER" out loud. I don't think I'll ever get over the way you flipped the script by making MC the one in control. The teasing?? The way poor Telemachus is trembling??? No thoughts, just stuttering pleas and repressed dignity. You even drew his hand clenching like he's hanging on to hope and sanity at the same time 😭 and MC looks so sweetly evil?? Like "Aww, baby's flustered <3" energy. She's not even breaking a sweat and he's about to implode. And Telemachus little figure in the corner cursing the gods with his whole soul cuz he's so down mad??? ICONIC.

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[twst-aceofhearts]

I Told You So! Part II

𝖆/𝖓: riddle so pookie :3 and here is part 1

𝖙𝖜: riddle rotting in bed with a cold

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: riddle x fem!yuu

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 883

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

Riddle stared at her in disbelief as she shoved a pillow behind his head with all the commanding authority of a concerned nursemaid.

“I told you—I don’t need rest, I just—ACHOO!”

“That sneeze says otherwise,” Yuu replied, arms crossed. “Face it. You caught my cold.”

“I am the dorm leader of Heartslabyul,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes even as they watered slightly. “It would be irresponsible of me to—”

“—walk around half-delirious with a fever?” she cut in, brow raised. “Yes. Extremely irresponsible.”

Riddle opened his mouth, then closed it again with a scowl. He hated losing arguments, but it was hard to argue with logic, especially when he could feel his limbs growing heavier by the minute.

Yuu shook her head and gently pushed on his shoulder. “Just lie down for a while. Please? I’ve been in that bed for over a day—I think I’ve earned some authority here.”

“…Only because you’re ill,” he mumbled, finally sinking back into the infirmary cot. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I’d never,” she said sweetly, draping a blanket over him.

She watched him settle, fussing with the hem of the blanket even though it was perfectly even. His eyes were glassy now, a far cry from the sharp, exacting gaze he usually carried. His red hair was mussed, his lips slightly chapped. He looked... tired. Small, even.

“You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?” she asked softly.

Riddle closed his eyes, inhaling through his stuffy nose. “You were more important.”

Her chest ached at the quiet sincerity in his voice.

“Well, now it’s your turn to be important,” she said. “Just rest. I’ve got this.”

He opened one eye. “Do you even know how to care for someone properly when they’re sick?”

Yuu smirked. “Please. I’ve kept Grim alive this long.”

“…That’s not reassuring.”

But he didn’t protest again when she sat beside the bed, brushing his bangs back from his forehead and checking his temperature with the back of her hand.

“Still warm,” she murmured, concern flickering in her eyes. “I’ll get some cooling balm.”

Fifteen minutes later, Riddle was tucked in with a cooling patch on his forehead, a warm towel on standby, a steaming cup of herbal tea on the bedside table, and a strict “no sitting up until I say so” rule enforced by Yuu.

“Honestly,” he mumbled, watching her as she flipped through a book on healing charms, “you’re taking to this role a bit too well.”

Yuu glanced up and gave him a cheeky smile. “I learn from the best, remember? I’ve had someone lecturing me about rules and routines since week one.”

“…Touché.”

He drank the tea obediently, wincing at the bitterness. She handed him a honey drop without a word.

It was surprisingly domestic.

The room was quiet, but not awkward—filled with the faint rustle of pages, the soft bubbling of her reheating a second cup of soup, and the occasional sniffle from Riddle.

She returned to his bedside with a small bowl and sat down again, balancing it carefully. “It’s not perfect, but I think you’ll like it better than the infirmary sludge.”

He stared at the spoon she offered. “You intend to feed me?”

“Well, unless you plan on lifting the spoon and falling sideways into the broth, yes.”

“…This is humiliating.”

“And yet,” she said, holding the spoon in place until he sighed and opened his mouth, “you’re not stopping me.”

He begrudgingly took the spoonful, chewed, and swallowed. Then blinked. “This is… quite decent.”

“Wow. A compliment?”

“I said decent,” he said, trying to sound stern—but it lacked its usual bite.

Yuu chuckled and fed him another spoonful. “You’re not such a bad patient, you know. For someone who usually threatens rule-breakers with decapitation.”

He gave her a look. “Illness is not an excuse for mockery.”

“But it is an excuse for me to make sure you don’t overwork yourself for once,” she said, gentling her voice. “You always carry so much on your shoulders. It’s okay to let someone else hold the umbrella when it rains.”

Riddle stared at her for a moment. His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked… struck.

Instead, he turned his face slightly away and muttered, “You say things like that far too easily.”

“What, the truth?”

“…No. The kind things.”

Yuu blinked, taken aback. “You think it’s easy?”

He hesitated. “It is for you.” His voice softened. “It’s why everyone draws near you. Why… I did.”

Her heart fluttered. Gently, she reached out and brushed his hair back again. “You’ve always taken care of everyone, Riddle. I want to take care of you, too.”

A long silence passed.

Then he nodded once. Just once. “Then… I’ll permit it. For now.”

She snorted softly. “You’re so generous, Rosehearts.”

He closed his eyes again, exhaustion finally dragging him down. “…Wake me in twenty minutes.”

“Not a chance.”

He huffed but didn’t fight. She stayed seated by his side, watching his breaths even out. When he dozed off completely, she adjusted the blanket again and leaned down to press a soft, feather-light kiss to his forehead.

“Sweet dreams, Riddle.”

He murmured something in his sleep. It sounded suspiciously like her name.

And for the rest of the afternoon, she never left his side.

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[velvetdolor]

a faint signal | choi san

͙͘͡★Genre: Cosmic nostalgia, fantasy, fluff, cosmic deities, 1980's Hong Kong, episodical. Centered around the Chinese myth of “三星” Sanxing, The Three Star Gods

.͙͘͡★Pairings: Cosmic spirit/ Star child! San x Weary soul! childhood friend reader ͙͙͘͡★WC: 3.4k

͙͘͡★Summary: It’s the year 1982–Hong Kong’s once awe-inspiring neon lights are now a dull visage of what it once was for you in your youth. Drained and dreamless, you find yourself bawling in a telephone booth after every unanswered call, until an old imaginary friend visits you at your lowest. You’re then thrusted into a strange and cosmic reality where the dreams of your youth weren’t so imaginary at all. [theme song] city pop playlist for a faint signals night life ambiance.

͙͘͡★ masterlist.

“Mom, please pick up the phone.” You mumble anxiously and the faint click of the tip of your fingernail peeling into your mouth is the only sound you get in reply. A song of evenly paced beeps echo in the telephone booth. Another answered call. 

A shaky sigh leaves you as you press your back against the cold metallic and filmy encasing of the telephone both– a beat of silence and then a heart wrenching array of sobs wrack through your body. It’s three AM and you know you shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of company.

Is this what adulthood’s meant to be like? The dulling of bright dreams, a sharp knife to the heart after meeting the end of what once felt like a fated love, or the death of illusions that promised happiness once you got the job? You came to Hong Kong five years ago straight out of high school, leaving the small mountainside village you were raised in with hopes of being beautiful enough to make it big and you did. Just as you’d wanted—your face flashed and scattered itself on the biggest screens of the steadily growing metropolis, all pretty and neon with passing eyes glancing in awe, but there was no one to call who’d answer you. 

You couldn’t recall the last time you even called your mom. Over the years her calls dwindled after leaving you enough voicemails that you’d left to stack on your residential phoneline. 

For the next thirty minutes all you do is cry, cry, and cry. Small gibberish phrases falling from your mouth hysterically in a flurry, none making sense in their fragments as you descended from a hot air balloon of barely restricted hysteria

 ‘Ah, Hong Kong!’ You moan sadly.

‘Why, Hong Kong?’ You question sadly.

‘Oh, but my dreams–Hong Kong?’ You accuse sadly. Straining and tugging the word out of your stretched mouth, squished against your palms in sorrow. 

‘Oh, my loneliness.’ you drone and pull at the plump of your cheeks as the bottoms of your eyes stretch downwards strangely. All of the “sadly’s”accumulating and falling onto your lap like a landslide. Poor Hong Kong– what a lovely and bright place to blame for your loneliness. 

‘Mom hates me.’ You go silent at that one, recognizing that you really didn’t have to say that to yourself. Your body slumps a bit and the previous volume of your fresh blowout seemed to flatten alongside your sadness. God, you needed to get a grip. 

A small knock startles you and you quickly spring up to wipe away at the remnants of your tears. You quickly open the door without realizing to see what was standing so close to it. A small ‘oof!’ causes your eyes to widen as you catch the sight of a young man falling back and onto his ass. 

You’re frozen for a singular moment, gripping onto the handle until your knuckles were pale before coming back to reality with an array of blubbers. 

“Oh Christ! Are you okay?” You flounder to where the man sat as he laughed. The first thing you noticed was how free and kind his laugh sounded. 

It seemed to bubble out of him, and he didn’t stop its melody for a while. His dark bangs, which originally obscured his features framed his face boyishly– tousled carelessly and he looked like an absolute dream. A dream that wore a Hawaiian button up under an oversized blazer at least, and he rises from the floor to dust his high waisted blue jeans. “I’m still in good shape.” He reaches a hand up to try and stifle another chuckle. There was something about the glimmer in his eyes that felt so familiar to you, an almost unrealistic light casting and bouncing off you like comets falling from his eyes. His feline features took in your form, almost amusedly. The sharpness of his face made your tummy spark. 

He stands in front of you, tucking his hands in his pockets while tilting his head to gaze at you, bangs falling into his eyes. After a couple beats of silence, you shuffle your feet, suddenly a little shy. 

“Sorry for hogging the booth. Uh, it’s all yours now.” You almost slap yourself at how you raised your arms to point to the side, bowing a little, feeling a little bit like a flight attendant. He maintains a mischievous and mysterious smile, staying silent as he gazed at you. After a few more awkward shuffles from your end you bubble “Do I know you?” 

“I dare to say that I know you much better than you know me.” He instantly replies and a weird sense that it had a double meaning blooms inside of you. At your strange look, he shakes his head and takes a step back, inhaling deeply. What he does next initially complexes you before aghast astonishment replaces it quickly. 

The man suddenly bows, right arm tucked elegantly against his lower abdomen, left arm flattening itself against his side before he dances a lonely waltz. He cradles the air as his makeshift companion as he hums a lighthearted tune, glistening with laughter as he whirls around you before stopping to lean towards you at eye level. “Ring a bell?” He quirks another smile, joy filling his gaze.

You’re immediately transported to a flurry of memories from your childhood at the mountain side– of sneaking away on most summer nights to sit and dream by the river that ran its course near your home. These moments were the genesis dreams of love, fame, and big city wonders. You’d talk to yourself often until the day came and you’d created your very own companion: a friend you’d named San, an obvious name for a child to pick when she was raised on the mountain. In San you found a friend, a dreamer, a confidant, and at times– a dance partner. Strangely, at the time you never questioned how vivid he was; despite knowing he was an imaginary friend. At the stroke of a memory, you digest the man’s features, noticing all of the ways he bared matured similarities. 

You were positively floored.

Have you actually, officially lost it? You couldn’t let the name slip out of your mouth, fearing that it’d only confirm your mania. You fought against it, grinding your teeth, and pushing out strangled and strange expressions that only seemed to lighten him before you caved to your own hilarity.

“S-san?” It’s almost as if the lights around you brightened 

“Atta girl, I knew you wouldn’t forget.” He smooths out his words, finally breaking away from his comfortable but close stance to your body, hands resting casually in his pockets once more. 

Was he real the entire time or did you finally spiral out of control? 

San could practically see your thoughts, tsking with a finger wagging at you. “No, no, no– don’t do that. I see you still have that habit hm?”

You exhale in disbelief “San, how are you real? You were a figment of my...” trailing off to gaze at him in bewilderment. 

“Not everything’s as it seems. Being here and feeling like this in the Hong Kong you’ve always dreamt of should’ve taught you that, right?” You’re stunted at his words. While he’s not wrong, it still didn’t make sense to you, but you didn’t even know what questions to ask. 

Another couple beats of silence.

San breaks it by grabbing your wrist, breaking out into a run, and you try to keep up despite fearing that your kitten heels might get caught in a crack on the sidewalk. “Where are we going?!” You shout at him, huffing for air

San replies simply, laughing with his head pointing to the sky”–We’re going to get noodles!”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to question him anymore. Not with how the wind seemed to curl around his midnight hair like a blanket of stars

Hong Kong is a flurry of buzzing and neon golds, greens, reds, and oranges– girls with big hair and red lips laugh arm in arm, and you hear Anita Mui’s ‘Oh no, Oh yes!’ playing from the patio of an open bar where people drank merrily while eating various street foods, and celebrating life or accomplishments–maybe even the mere ability of existing amongst other people. The colors flash and flow like watercolors as you run with San, suddenly girlish in laughter as you think of how nonsensical this all was. 

You pass by a long array of lanterns and plastic coverings of what’s typically a morning fish market and land at a lonely restaurant where an old woman hummed as she shuffled a stack of plates to the kitchen. There’s a dim blue sign buzzing by its entrance, its characters reading out ‘Sanxing’.

The three Star Gods. 

You gaze at it for a moment longer as San meanders in, bellowing out “Auntie!”

A loud “Ah?!” is immediately thrown out from the back of the restaurant, the old woman having trouble clearly hearing and recognizing the voice. She shuffles out with a slightly hunched posture, wiping her hands against her apron before brightening. “San!”

She tries to speed up but San practically flutters to where she stood and leaned down so she could hold his cheeks in her hands as she cooed. 

“It’s been so long, my little star.” You see their resemblance in the glistening of her eyes– both unbelievably cosmic and you were entranced by their shared beauty. She fleetingly glances behind him to rest her widened eyes on you

“Is that the one you’ve been watching–” She starts, words skittering out of her in comical alarm before she’s interrupted by San’s hand shooting up to gently cover her mouth, pulling her back into the kitchen with a strong whisper “We haven’t gotten to that part yet!”

A strand of hair sticks out directly from your bed of hair, frazzled at the sudden pace of events as you stand alone at the center of the empty restaurant. 

Two bowls of piping hot noodles are placed in front of you–fragrant and steaming in the night air as you sit outside of the noodle shop on plastic chairs set beside a lonely and small glass table. San’s aunt grins at the two of you, watching as you gaze excitedly at her plating and listens to the sound of your happy slurping of the knife cut noodles. 

“Enjoy, my little stars.” She says as she practically dances away, bowed posture and all.

San’s eyes curl into little moons as he watches you eat. His heart warmed by the fact that he’s finally seeing you eat from this angle and can witness the act in detail versus his typical view of your (adorable) hair whirl. He finally picks up his spoon to gather a bit of broth, unable to stop his eyes from gazing back at you from sheer habit. 

As you simmer down and relax, savoring the taste of each deliberate spice and notes of anise resting on your tongue, you finally speak. 

“San, if you were… real all this time, where did you go?” 

San pauses, eyes unblinking, though he still maintained his gentle candor. He settles down his spoon slowly, deliberating what to say.

You weren’t really sure when it really happened. You never questioned the slow disintegration of your imaginary friend– his existence naturally washed away with time by the idea of outgrowing the age necessary to have one. If San was real, why did he disappear? Why was he there on the mountain and unknown to everyone in such a small village with the exception of you?

“I’ve always watched over you.” He starts, fiddling with his fingers. “You’ve probably picked up on the strangeness of it all. Though I wasn’t imaginary, my being there was a curious situation. I think I can only say it outrightly, since there doesn’t seem to be another way to explain.” His tone is naturally playful, you’ve noticed. Though his eyes told him that the following words weren’t a joke, he couldn’t help the lightness he carried.

“I’m one of the many, many sons of a Star God. In some ways, I’m a spirit and in others– I’m not. It’s a gift I have– the ability to be corporeal is because I’m from his direct lineage. We’re called Cosmic Deities, Spirits, and so on– human’s also call us stars. Our lives are encompassed by a constant playing with the nighttime amongst each other or watching humans in their daily lives.” You listen in fascination. Although there was a fleeting moment when you thought you were eating with an egregiously insane man– you were able to see his earlier mysteries for yourself. Though you chalked it down and gave too much credit to your creative mind before this happened and were instantly humbled by the realization. San smiles at your attentive eyes, glad that there didn’t seem to be much disbelief or concern for his sanity in your eyes (He saw a little, but it wasn’t a concerning amount.)

 “I was born around the same time as you were and placed above the mountain you were raised in. My father was always busy, and my older brothers were all placed in other areas of the night sky. Young stars are instructed to stay in one place; else they’d be too wild to contain and keep track of. As lovely as the mountain was, it was so boring to be there on my own, and on one fateful night… I saw a girl around my age talking to herself and the sky. I watched her for a couple of weeks before I broke the rules and snuck down onto the mountain. That’s where I met you–just in time to feed into your delusions.” He laughs when you reach to smack him across the table.

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief “So, you’re a… star that used to watch me?”

He picks his chopsticks back up, stuffing his face with noodles before replying with his mouth full “Yeah, pretty much.” While you’d grimaced at the sight of him talking through noodles, you couldn’t deny there was something about San that inspired adoration from everything. It made sense that he was the literal body of a star. 

Slurping up his last noodle, he inhales deeply, cradling his full stomach and patting twice. 

“Wanna go somewhere fun?” He asks casually and before you could even reply, a bright chrome light fills your vision. 

“What the hell?” You panic a bit, straining the bulge of your eyes at San– astonished that he didn’t even consider if your little human mind could fathom what you’re seeing without passing out.

A shell like and nearly holographic prism surrounds you as different streams of color and light move in different directions and speeds. It’s what was frighteningly below you that floored you above even the beauty of it all– small glimmers and remnants of Hong Kong’s city skyline flicker and ember, except the skyline wasn’t so skyline from how high up you were.

San grins mischeiviously, almost catlike in its curl.  His bangs sway a bit in that strangely charming and gamine way “You technically shouldn’t be up here, but I think you needed to get out of there–” He points down at Hong Kong “—for a little bit.”

A stunned silence and a small twitch of your eye ends up morphing into unrestrained laughter. The disbelief was palpable, and you didn’t know you’d end your lonely night in a blanket of stars. San grabs your hand and pulls you towards him before asking “You still remember how to dance, little star?” 

In reply, you sway into his arms and allow him to spin you along the prisms of flowing light– the both of you beaming silver with laughter.

A small yawn leaves your body, and San suddenly realizes that humans are usually only awake during the hours of the Sun. He bristles a little at the thought, hating that the Sun got to see you even more than he did. He just hopes the man wasn’t watching you in particular. 

He stands there wanting to savor this rare moment of being able to finally envelop you in his arms, and he does, until he tugs you away softly. “It’s time for you to flicker off, Star. It seems to we’ve passed your bedtime.” A boyish smile graces the beauty of his face, and your eyes linger on the dimples of his cheeks, settling like craters on the moon. 

Though you were tired, you were scared of this being an official goodbye. Now in finally knowing San, there’d be no way he’d be able to disappear from memory and were lonely at the thought of never seeing him again. Your stomach is gaunt at the idea. “Will I see you again?” You ask, eyes glazing over with a small and hopeful light.

“Oh, I’ll be around. Have no doubt about that.” He turns, still glancing at you with a small and boyish half-smile gracing features, as a chrome light shimmers against his body– all cosmic and God-like before turning back to you after a brief thought. San leans his head down to grin at you with the joy of omnipresent eyes, slowly dimming his lids to place a brief and chaste kiss onto your lips.

He smiles and you swear somewhere a star’s been born before lightly saying “I’ve always wanted to do that.” Before a metallic gleam dressed his body and everything goes black.

You wake up pressed against the cold window outside of a noodle shop close to closing. A few slips of cash were slipped under a blue glass of water, shimmering in a way that reminded you of the mountain side. Despite remembering you’d just left wherever San had taken you in the cosmos now– disbelief ran its course through you. 

That couldn’t have been real. There’s no way.

A small loneliness creeps its way up your throat. It wasn’t real and you spent and ended the night alone, just as you’d initially expected–with a cheek sliding embarrassingly down a small noodle shops foggy window with only the blinking of a neon light accompanying you.

Gazing at the cash, you fleetingly wonder if someone had paid the bill as an act of being a good samaritan, until you peered closely. The stray coins looked… strange.

Star shaped pieces of silver, a bit rustic and seemingly chewed on at the edges by the teeth shaped indentations, and under them laid a small scrawled on receipt paper, flapping in the breeze.

Scrunching your brows, you unfold the note and finally notice that an empty bowl of noodles sat directly across your own. 

It was simple really but nothing else needed to be said as a smile shuttered onto your face.

‘Look up.’

You do and catch a glimpse of a small flicker from your favorite star, as if it were waving.

siren’s notes/blip: While I could’ve set this story in South Korea, I’ve been feeling a lot of nostalgia for the films I watched growing up that were based in Hong Kong. This was supposed to be a little writing exercise for me and then it just expanded into this little idea. There isn’t necessarily a concrete story line, as that’s not really the intention of this drabble. This was a longer piece since I wanted to set the scene or provide some backstory before it got episodical. I was trying to write chapter two of the thrill of the hunt but struggled with having frustration with plotline stitching and needed to take a break and just started writing this– which was a random idea but will more than likely be going into my short story manuscripts.

I kind of just wanted to write something that felt like sudden magic and plan on writing little episodes about this cosmic pair and the lovely starlight owner of Sanxing. I hope that if you read this, you’d enjoyed it. 

Another semi-related fact about my choice of setting the story is that I’m moving overseas next year to attend a university in Bangkok but am planning to travel to another city for a tiny bit before the semester begins. I was stuck between going to Busan/Seoul, Jiufen (Taiwan), and of course– Hong Kong. I wanted to daydream a little and so here we are.

This series was inspired by the instrumental "a faint signal" by infinity frequencies. Let me know how you liked it. :)

p.s as any reoccurring readers could tell—i really like using this photo of san

[chans1aptop]

this made me cry :,) so very good wow wow wow

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

—————————————————————

No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest.The emotions that were being kept at bay came out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”