#but I’m trying to remind myself that I have five more weeks to learn the basic skills and build good routines

[whentherewerebicycles]

I seem to be fine most of the day and then I have a BIG mood dip around 8pm. I think I should just immediately go to bed instead of entertaining any thoughts at all about the future

[whimsyfinny]

How to Avoid the Love of Your Life

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) had spent the last four years of her life avoiding him, but when her and Dean inevitably cross paths again it could go one of two ways - either really good, or really bad.

Warnings: Language, angst (so much fucking angst I'm sorry), Smut, PinV, Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Overstimulation, Dean being a sex God, reader being anxious, bad breakup, reader having a gun

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 8200 (wtf I'm sorry I got carried away)

A/N: Here it is! I'm sooooo sorry @jackles010378 that this took so long. I would've had it up last week but my kid got sick and I had to learn how to solo parent hahaha. Anyway, this is the final competition oneshot, and I hope you enjoy it!

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A voice that I knew all too well reached my ears through the crowd of people in the bar. The deep tone of his voice immediately brought goosebumps to my skin and a small smirk to my lips. I straightened where I stood besides the pool table, lowering the cue and leaning on it lazily as I turned to the direction the voice had come from.

“Dean Winchester,” I let my eyes travel over his rugged form; taking in the faint new scars on his face, his weather-beaten jacket and distinctive choice of plaid and denim. He looked virtually the same as he did when I last saw him four years ago - just older. His eyes now holding more haunting memories than any man should ever have to keep locked away in the depths of ones mind.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked with the tilt of my head as he took a step closer, ignoring the bustling of people trying to get past him to order more drinks.

“You know why we’re here,” he pushed his hands into his pockets as he took another step, slowly creeping closer.

“Hmm,” I hummed, reaching for my beer and taking a sip, letting the bitter bubbles sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing them down.

“So, I take it this has nothing to do with coming for that falsely promised personal visit, and all to do with the pack of werewolves that have moved in across town?” I jabbed the beer bottle in his direction, feeling the smile on my face lose its warmth. Dean sighed and looked at his boots, and when he’d pondered on his answer, ready to verbalise it, I cut him off.

“Jody has been doing her fucking best to keep shit safe around here with the skills you taught her. The least you could do is check in a couple of times a week - visit once a month.”

“Listen sweetheart-”

“I don’t need to hear how you saved the world five hundred times this week. I don’t need to hear it second hand from other hunters. I need to hear it from you. She needs to hear that you’re ok. We all do.”

Dean looked up, his eyes meeting mine, clouded by a regretful shadow.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. Life has been so fucking messed up and sometimes I don’t even know what fucking month it is. I’ll do better. Me and Sam - we’ll be better.”

I stared at him intently, reassuring myself that he wasn’t saying ‘he’d be better’ if he didn’t mean it. He’d fed me empty lies wrapped in colourful silk in the past and I’d unwrapped every one with a hopeful heart, disappointment following every single one of them. People live and they learn, and I was no exception.

“If you’re not better, for Jodys sake - for Claire and Alex and even Donna - then I will never forgive you.” I stared at Dean long enough to feel the frustration towards him start to simmer in my veins, reminding me why I did what I did all those years ago. I was willing to endure him for my family’s sake despite hating that stupid pedestal they’d put him on - hating how in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

If only they could see him through my eyes.

The sound of long-strided footsteps and a familiar voice exclaiming “oh shit” snapped me from my festering thoughts, and I looked up to see Sam walk up and stand next to Dean.

“Sam!” I smiled, his face the picture of apprehension as he nervously smiled back.

“H-hey (Y/n), it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room incredulously before locking eyes with him again.

“Surprised to see me? Drinking in a bar, in my hometown? Where you guys know that I live? I know, right? Who would’ve thunk it.”

Sam shifted nervously, like he wanted to whisper something to his brother or simply whisk him away to a booth where they could sip beers, work a case and ogle waitresses. I sighed out a mentally exhausted breath - the presence of the Winchesters flooding my mind with memories of a better time - a simpler time. Dean was right about one thing - that life was messed up.

“Look, I’m clearly keeping you boys from your secret club meeting. I promise to behave if you do too,” I eyed them, waiting for them to accept the proposal of peace. Sam nodded, offering a few lacklustre words of poor convincing whilst Dean just stared at me, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, his eyes swimming in defiance.

“You’ve never been one to behave yourself, have you? Let's see how long this lasts.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Sam pulled Dean away before any more weaponised words could be fired, Deans lips forever holding that slap-worthy grin as he eventually turned his back and headed to the other side of the bar.

For the whole evening I could feel eyes on my back and a prickle on my skin. No matter what I did or how much I tried to distract myself - I was so hyper-aware that the Winchesters were sitting at a table just across the room. Every time I turned my back or walked to the bar, I could feel myself scrutinised under an unwanted observation. As I politely turned down the offer of a drink from a handsome stranger, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached to answer it, my palms growing sweaty when I saw the name flash on the screen.

“Hey Jody,” I fought to keep my voice steady, my previous frustrations starting to bubble to the surface again.

“Hey (Y/n)! You’re never going to guess who’s in town!”

My teeth immediately clenched and I shot a glare over to where the brothers were sitting, watching Dean tuck his phone back into his pocket and drop his head into his hands.

When I failed to utter a single word at Jody’s excited proclamation, she instantly caught on.

“Oh shit, you know already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I feel like I spoke at him, which counts I guess.”

Despite knowing my inner conflictions, she chuckled slightly.

“You give him a piece of your mind?”

“Yup,” I sighed, running a hand over my face, “I think I’m going to have to keep my distance from him, Jody. Just seeing him - looking at him after all these years - it hurts. It fucking hurts and he doesn’t realise how much he messed me up with everything that he did and said,” I could feel that all too familiar burn in my eyes as I fought desperately against the tears; biting my lip to stop it from trembling. When I gave my emotions away with a not-so-discrete sniff, Jody’s more sympathetic side emerged.

“Aw sweet girl, I know it’s hard. Do you want me to come and get you?”

I shook my head despite knowing she couldn’t see me and wiped away a rogue tear.

“No it’s ok, I think I just need to be alone. Plus I know you - you want to spend some time and catch up with them, which is fine and I get it. It’s just not something I can be there for right now,” I lifted my head and looked through the crowd of people, watching how Sam talked to Dean and Dean fiddled with his beer bottle again. I looked down before he could see me, though I knew he would be able to pick me out of any crowd anywhere within a matter of minutes. I hated that he knew me so well.

“If you’re sure, you know where we are if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks Jody. And… I’m sorry for making this so complicated for you. I know you have no reason to hate him, and I don’t like putting you in the middle like this.”

“(Y/n) I get it sweetheart, you have nothing to apologise for. Just…” she paused, as though debating if her words were worth saying.

“Just what?”

“Just don't do anything stupid,” I could hear the slight amusement in her voice despite her words of caution. I chuckled slightly, wiping away another tear.

“You know me - I can’t make that promise. Bye Jody, see you later.”

After the farewell I hung up the phone, deciding some fresh air would help me to cool my head.

I'd barely taken five steps out the bars entrance and into the parking lot when the harsh sound of rowdy chatter drew my attention. Snapping my head towards it, cold blood filled my veins at the sight in the shadows - the gut wrenching sight of a small group of men huddling together and attempting to steal a car.

To steal Baby.

The cold sensation of dread quickly transformed into the heat of fury as my blood started to boil at the sheer audacity of the thieving group, now doing their best to stay out of the glow of the street lamp. They were lucky it was me that had found them and not Dean, as the latter would have dropped every single one of them by now and not left a soul breathing. I know Dean and I no longer had any sort of relationship, but when we did, this car had been witness to every moment. Baby saw every smile, laugh, and happy tear shared between Dean and I, along with petty lovers quarrels and raw moments of lust filled passion. I'd lost count of how many times we'd steamed up those back windows since we were teenagers and Dean stole the car from his old man for our first date. Then there were the long rides from case to case - Sam and I arguing over who rode shotgun - with Metallica blasting from the speakers, windows rolled down and the wind wisping every worry away as we belted our lungs out. Those were the best moments of my life. In that car. And I'd be damned if I let some dive bar fuckheads steal her.

With zero hesitation I pulled out the gun tucked into my boot and fired three warning shots to the sky before aiming my piece at them, wary that they might also be packing.

“Get away from the FUCKING car - NOW!”

The anger in my voice was a deadly warning as the group turned to me like rabbits in the headlights before turning tail and bolting - one of them dropping a hefty crowbar in the process. As I lowered my gun when they fled, I turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps thumping on the gravel behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean had arrived at my side before Sam and he reached to rest a hand on the small of my back; guided by muscle memory. I turned to face him, a small crowd gathering outside the bar to witness the fleeting commotion. As Sam arrived I explained, my voice harbouring a slight tremble of adrenaline and frustration.

“Some assholes tried to steal Baby-”

“WHAT?!” Deans voice filled with horror, yet his hand remained on my back.

“But you- you're ok right? They didn't hurt you?”

“What? No, I'm fine.”

With my confirmation he withdrew his hand and doubled over, resting his palms on his knees and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ugh thank fuck - you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam, who appeared shortly after Dean, patted him on the back and flashed me a split-second grin, the glint lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don't think I've seen Dean move so fast - like… ever.”

I couldn't stop the soft, airy laugh leaving my lungs, a memory flooding my mind.

“I think the fastest I ever saw him move was when we used to hunt with your dad, and Dean took the car without permission. John ended up stranded at that god-awful motel for six hours after we accidentally fell asleep in the layby-”

“Oh god, was that the motel with those raccoons?” Dean stood up straight, the memory seeming to light up his face as he looked me straight in the eye, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yes - oh my GOD those raccoons were awful,” I started to chuckle and I could tell Dean was holding it in.

“Raccoons?” Sam asked, looking between us with a raised eyebrow. I opened my mouth to explain but Dean beat me to it.

“In every corner of each room there was a taxidermy raccoon, however the person who taxidermied them obviously had no idea what an actual raccoon looked like.”

“Most of them had eyes that were too close together and their bodies were way too long - like some sort of ferret-raccoon hybrid,” I chimed in, the memory bringing warmth to my chest at the comical idiocy of it all.

“I remember dad turned his so they faced the wall and away from the bed,” Dean let out a small laugh, managing to pull one from Sam as well as we slowly made our way over to the car, my gun returned to the holster in my boot.

“I'm pretty sure that was the first and last thing that ever gave John Winchester genuine heebie jeebies,” I looked up at Sam's disbelieving expression.

“And your brother hid his in the bottom of the closet.”

Dean grimaced before chuckling again.

“They had tiny little ferret-raccoon buttcheeks.”

“Oh god yeah, they were so prominent.”

“So prominent.”

Stepping up to Baby, Dean gave her a thorough once over, running his large hands gently over the places most likely to have laid victim to the crowbar. After three laps and continuous scrutiny, he deemed her unharmed.

We stood together for a moment in silence, the conversation having bled out, leaving nothing but our prior heavy tension and my own dwelling sorrow. I looked up at them both, my gaze lingering on Dean.

“Look, I need to go. I can't- I can't be around you right now, Dean. I'm glad Baby is ok and I…” I sucked in a breath, steadying my voice, “I wish you all the best. Both of you. Stay safe out there.” with my final words I spun on my heel and left.

The motel room was pitch black save for the small box TV flickering in the corner, the original Ghostbusters playing through blown out speakers. I sat in the middle of the couch rocking baggy plaid pj pants and an old band t-shirt (likely Deans, much to my own dismay). With criss-crossed legs and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I attempted to wallow, Rory Gilmore style, over a man who I would never fully get over. Mine and Deans relationship had ended years ago, yet here I was, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted. Most days I get by, and sometimes even forget the pain he caused me, allowing me to feel light and almost normal. But seeing him in the flesh, catching the scent of him and hearing his voice had turned my defences to ash. I felt exposed and raw, my heart practically on a silver platter ready for another round of being ripped to pieces. I thought I would be able to handle it if I ran into him. I knew deep down in my gut that it would happen eventually, that it was unavoidable given my living arrangements. That he would likely come and visit Jody and the others, and I would have to pretend that everything was ok - that my heart wasn't still breaking over him. I'd avoided him for this long, always able to find the perfect excuse to not be around when he showed up. It was about time the avoidance streak ran it out.

The sound of his laugh earlier this evening had tightened every muscle in my chest, reminding me of every blissful moment we'd spent together - obsessed with each others company and craving nothing else on this fucked up Earth. His smile had made me want to weep, knowing I no longer got to wake up to it every morning or let it be the last thing I witnessed before sleep. The smile that got us both into so much trouble, both as teenagers and adults alike. The smile that always made arguments feel absurd half way through. No matter who I encounter in life or how many people God throws at me in an attempt to fill the void left behind by Dean, it's an incurable hole in my soul that can never be healed.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth as I watched the movie unfold - desperate for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to reach through the screen and devour me along with my melancholy attitude. Too preoccupied with the film and the strange attraction I seemed to be harbouring to men in boiler suits, I almost missed the low rumble of an engine pull into the motel parking lot outside my room. An all too familiar engine. My ears pricked before reality dawned, the blood draining from my face.

“That son of a bitch.”

I scrambled off the couch and ducked behind it, popcorn flying, knowing all too well that he'd come peering in through the gaps in the blind - which my dumbass had left open so I could watch the rain. Heavy rain and self pity went together like jack and coke after all.

There were a few breaths of silence after the squeak and slam of the impala door, and I thought maybe I'd gotten away with it. Perhaps he was staying in a room further down? Fate was forever against me though when there was a loud knock on the door. I flinched, anxiety dampening my palms as I tucked my knees into my chest and held my breath, praying to Chuck himself that Dean would leave. That he'd convince himself that he was making a reckless decision by being here, or that he had the wrong room. I almost jumped out of my skin when he rapped on the window and his voice boomed through the pattering of rain and static-y TV audio.

“I know you're in there (Y/n), now open the door.”

Even if I'd wanted to move, the ability to do so had fled my body, my muscles petrified at the thought of confronting him. I jumped again when he hammered on the door this time, the cheap wood rattling on its hinges.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/n)! Your truck is parked outside and I can see your hunting gear on the table. Open the fucking door!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you let me speak to you!”

“No!”

There was a loud THUD as his boot collided with the door and I heard him growl in frustration. I could just picture him pacing in a circle, running a hand through his hair.

“(Y/n)-”

“Please, Dean, just… just don't. I can't look at you.” I felt my voice shrink as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, unsure if he caught my words. He did.

“What- why not?” His voice was a wretched mix of desperation and confusion, cracking between words.

I was quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang thick in the air before I pushed myself to my feet, instantly missing the comfort of the upright foetal position. I wandered over to the door, my fuzzy-socked feet padding on the thread-bare carpet.

“Because,” I leant against the wood, my heart aching at the thought of him being so close yet so devastatingly untouchable, “if I open this door I'm going to undo all the progress I've made with getting over you, Dean.” His name was bittersweet as it slid off my tongue. The quiet sound of Dean sucking in a breath hissed through the gaps in the wood.

“Please, sweetheart. I need you to open this door.”

The softer tone of his voice made him infinitely harder to resist, but I had to stand my ground.

“Dean, you know I can't,” my eyes burned as the tears started to well, my voice objecting to my words with a pitiful rasp.

“Yes you can,” he paused, “you have to, otherwise I'm going to kick this piece of shit down.”

My eyes flew wide.

“No-no Dean-”

“Stand back.”

“Don't!”

“Three…”

“Stop-”

“Two…”

“Dean-”

“One-”

“Fine!”

I grasped the handle and flung the door open, my heart dancing with my stomach when I finally caught sight of him. There he was, soaked through from the rain and giving me that woeful Mr Darcy stare. The water droplets clung to his lashes and trickled down his cheeks, the breathtaking beauty of him erasing the pre-prepared sentence from my mind. Now, all I could think at that moment was to get him warm and dry. The noose around my heart tightened when I reached a hand out to grasp his, pulling him in out of the downpour. As the door closed behind him there was a pause, my quickly dissolving self restraint making it agonising to be in his presence. And Dean seemed to know that, yet he remained.

“(Y/n)-”

“Don’t,” as the cold water started to pool around his boots, I paced over to the bathroom, quickly emerging with a fuzzy towel in hand. I passed it over to him slowly, treating him like a wild, unpredictable animal that could pounce at any moment. He took it gently from my grasp, his fingers softly brushing mine. His skin was cold and damp from the outdoors. We stood in silence for a few moments whilst Dean dried his hair as best as he could, shortly after shrugging off his jacket to hang on the dining chair beside him. As he continued to ruffle his hair dry, I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you here, Dean? What do you want?”

He lowered the towel and hung it with his jacket, sighing from the pit of his stomach.

“Me and Sam went to see Jody and the others. I was hoping to run into you again - I wanted to talk to you. But when you didn’t appear, Jody said you’d checked out for a few nights - said you wanted to be away from the house when… uh…” his voice faltered and something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes. Unable to finish his sentence he leant on the table, staring intently at the pile of hunting gear I'd dumped there.

“When you arrived,” I finished it for him, “Yeah, that’s right. And I told  her not to tell you where I was.”

“She didn’t,” he stood up straight again, holding his hands up, “I knew you wouldn’t have gone far, so I drove around until I spotted your truck,” he admitted, gaze flitting down to the floor. More silence followed, the atmosphere thickening as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean,” my voice was small as my anxiety spiked again, the question ready to spill from my mouth though no matter what he said, I knew I wasn’t ready for the answer. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? You say you want to talk, but you’re the one who ended everything. You ended our decades-long relationship out of fucking nowhere. What could there possibly be to talk about anymore. It’s been four years.” My voice trembled and he clenched his teeth, looking away from me before setting his eyes back to the floor. He dragged his gaze back up to mine, and something burned deep in those evergreen irises that took my breath away. Yet he remained silent.

“You crushed me when out of nowhere you said we were over - that we had no future. That you couldn't imagine growing old with me, like we'd always talked about. You have no idea how much you broke my fucking heart, and then you just expected me to live alongside you in the bunker like nothing was wrong? In my own room, far away from you? Why did you think that I would be ok with that?” I felt the familiar drip of hot tears and they flooded down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, the dam I’d fought so hard to contain now bursting wide with vengeance.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” Dean spoke up finally, his voice deep and gravelly, like it always was when he was upset. “You don’t think that telling you that everything was over wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do? That I was happy watching you pack your bags and walk out without so much as a goodbye?”

“You didn’t love me, Dean, so why would you have cared? You obviously didn’t love me the way that I loved you.”

He flinched, but took a step closer. 

“You think this is because I stopped loving you? (Y/n)... it wasn’t safe- you weren’t safe in the bunker. You weren’t safe with me…” his expression turned to one of pain as his brows pinched and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if you just stayed in the bunker with little to no association with me, then it would be ok. I mean, I'd still get to see you, talk to you. Be in your fucking presence. I never expected you to- to…” he took another deep breath, his lungs almost stuttering. “I didn’t think you would leave.”

He never took his eyes off mine. I saw the years of hurt and heartbreak intertwine with glimmers of green and gold, the emotions I always knew he’d struggled to cope with were swimming in a pool of desperation and fear. On the outside, Dean Winchester was the strongest there was. He was an undefeated and undisputed leader of men. He was the King of hunters. The Alpha. The man who could make you wish you were dead. Yet here he was, wearing every vulnerable emotion on his sleeve as he stood before me with anxious breaths and fearful eyes. The sight made my heart break all over again.

“Dean,” his name was like a quiet prayer as he moved closer again, “I don’t think you understand…”

“Understand what, sweetheart?” the rasp in his voice pebbled goosebumps on my skin, and when he reached for a lock of my hair to twirl around his finger, I had to fight off every instinct to just throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest. His familiar scent floated through the air and wrapped itself around my senses, and when I breathed him in the aroma of old leather and gunpowder went straight to my brain like a hit of cocaine. The pleasant hum from my chest was involuntary. 

“I don’t think you understand that… that…” I sighed a woeful breath, looking up at him and seeing nothing but a warm, expectant gaze.

“That I’m still in love with you.”

The finger Dean had looped around my hair froze in place and I heard him suck in a breath, his lips parting. He remained unmoving, as though every thought racing through his mind had taken precedence over his body. It was a moment before he blinked, coming back down to Earth. When he looked down at me, all of the desperation, hurt and heartbreak dissipated from his eyes and in their place was the blazing heat of hope, accentuated by a small upturned twitch of his lips.

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before I could react Dean had scooped me into his arms and crashed his mouth onto mine. The urge to push him away and tell him to get the fuck out bubbled up inside me, however when his familiar taste graced my tongue, a taste that was home, every desire for him to leave evaporated. The years of being apart, of being unable to touch him had made every caress electric, no matter how feather-light. My hands had tangled in his shirt as he pressed his mouth harder onto mine, pulling him crushingly close. His embrace was almost suffocating before he gently slid his hands up and threaded his rough fingers through my hair, and I lifted my own hands to do the same. I took my time with the motion, reminding myself of what he felt like - not that the memory of him ever truly left. I remembered how the muscles across his stomach and chest felt hard beneath a soft layer of skin. I remembered the way they quivered at my touch, and how my touch always pulled soft moans from his lips. My hands crept up to take hold of his face, the familiar feeling of his rough stubble beneath my fingertips ever present, a reminder of how that rough stubble felt when it tauntingly brushed against other parts of my body. I cupped his cheeks, feeling my own tears dampen his skin. He kissed me in a way that said I’m sorry, a kiss that held four years of pent up emotions with a desire to be released. A kiss that I knew was designed specifically for me. Our breaths and lips became frantic, the pace in which we were now devouring each other was still not enough to soothe the wounds in our hearts that were so desperate to be healed. Dean pulled away and held my face in his hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft skin under my eyes to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you, so fucking much,” his voice was low, his words for my ears only - not that anyone else was listening.

“I miss you too,” I sniffled, resting my palms on his chest again and relishing in the heat seeping through his shirt.

He leant down and rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. The atmosphere shifted however when he dipped down lower and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, then to my ear, and then to my neck - each press of his lips drawing a shiver from my spine. I gasped when he nibbled my pulse point gently and my hands flew to grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his neck, my nails dragging over his scalp. He groaned against me at the sensation, one large hand moving to grip my hair at its roots whilst the other slid to my hip - squeezing the soft flesh. A moan of his name slipped past my lips and it was like a switch was flipped as he pulled away suddenly. He turned to take a few steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between us. I stood, baffled for a moment, but when he turned back to me and his vibrant eyes were now black with lust, I almost knew what he was going to say.

“Do you really want to go there sweetheart? Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he started making slow strides back towards me and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yes,” my voice was more breathy than I’d anticipated.

“No regrets?” he was almost within reach again.

“No regrets.”

When his hands landed on my waist again, his frenzied kisses on my lips, I was expecting to be able to ravage him equally; but when he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing I let out a shocked yelp. 

“Dean!”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he strode over to the bed and threw me down, the impact on the mattress knocking a breath out of me.

“I’ve not been able to fuck you sensless for four years, there ain’t no way I’m going easy on you tonight sweetheart.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he tore his top from his body. I barely got a glimpse of his rugged physique that I’d so terribly missed before he all but pounced, trapping me beneath him. My hands immediately clung to the tight muscles of his back, my nails digging in and drawing a hiss from his clenched teeth before his mouth pressed to my neck right below my ear.

“Do you remember how you used to scream my name?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you scream much, much, louder than you ever have before. I’m going to make all past encounters feel like a warm up compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight.” I shivered at his words as his hot breath fanned over my skin. His hands were fast, desperately tugging on my pyjama pants to slip one inside the soft fabric, not bothering to remove them entirely. There was an urgency to his movements like nothing I’d ever seen, the air leaving my lungs on a gasping moan when his fingers grazed my underwear. He chuckled slightly, pressing a series of searing kisses down my neck to my collar bone. 

“Well, aren't you sensitive? How long has it been, darlin’? Since someone else touched you - since someone else made you cum?” The heat rose to my already flushing cheeks at his words and I tried to cover my face with the back of my hand. My attempts to hide were futile as his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pinned my arm above my head. 

“Well?” he pressed, a smirk on his lips.

“Four years,” I all but squeaked. He thought for a moment before his smirk evolved into a widespread grin. “Don't let it go to your head, Winchester,” I did my best to bite out my words yet my voice trembled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. My head rolled into the quilt and my back arched when he pushed his finger against my clit through my underwear a second time, this time harder, more purposeful. His own breath was shuddering as he continued to plant hot kisses against my skin, the slight dampness from his lips cooling quickly when he pulled back to sit on his knees. My heart didn't know if it wanted to stop dead in my chest or palpitate itself into oblivion when he looked down at me. Dean eminated a dark, primal hunger, glazing his eyes with lust as he gnawed his bottom lip. There wasn't a part of me that he hadn't seen before, and despite my current lack of nakedness it was as if I wasn't wearing anything at all. He made a noise in his chest that seemed to roll up his throat, like a growl of approval as I lay like prey beneath him. Dean may be older now, but he was bigger. Broader. Larger. The years of saving the world and fighting every abomination in his path had forced him to bulk up most exquisitely. With my free hand I traced over the scars adorning his shoulders, chest and abdomen: some old and silver, some newer and pink. There were even a fresh few, still scabbed over, and he shivered at every gentle touch. His gaze, however, was unrelenting. Without uttering a word he yanked my pyjama bottoms from my legs and tossed them into the depths of the room, immediately doing the same with my underwear. Instinctively I attempted to pull my knees together despite him being planted between them and he laughed softly, dragging his dark eyes over my slightly squirming body. He clutched my hand that was touching his chest and pinned it with my other one above my head, leaning down to lift the hem of my t-shirt, to gather above my breasts with his teeth. A shiver tore through me as his hot breath dusted the soft skin of my stomach and ribs, perking my nipples instantly.

“I think your body missed me sweetheart.”

“Definitely not just my body,” I panted. He breathed over my lips for a moment, every possibility of tonight's endeavours flashing before his eyes before he dipped his head to kiss me. His mouth moved slightly slower this time, like he was desperately trying to control the beast inside and make every moment count. To make every moment memorable.

“Do you remember Oasis Plains, Oklahoma? With that fancy house we borrowed?” His voice dropped an octave, eyes hooded as he recalled the memory.

“Yes,” I practically clenched, remembering the late night escapades from all those years ago. In my mind it was like yesterday - the way his lips felt on my skin, how his strong fingers bruised my thighs, and how he brought me to total completion no less than three times. His lips twitched up as he slid down my body and off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. He roughly gripped my thighs and threw them over his shoulders before slowly, tantalisingly sliding his hands up the supple flesh to grasp my ass and pull my whole body towards him.

“I’m gonna make you lose your fucking mind, just like you did back then. Maybe I'll even beat that record.”

My eyes could've disappeared inside my skull with how far they rolled back, his mouth's quick descent over my most intimate area - a soft kiss placed just above my clit - had me gasping in anticipation. Without a second to gather my thoughts he pressed his next kiss to that bundle of nerves; the wet heat of his mouth sending a pulse after pulse of fire through my veins as I twitched at his touch. He was an expert. Every flick of his tongue was practised and calculated, knowing which way to swirl, to caress, and how much pressure to apply. It was only a matter of minutes before my hands plunged into his hair and I grasped desperately at the soft strands, feeling that tidal wave build, and build, and build before he daringly grazed his teeth over my clit and it sent the wave crashing down around me, my body arching off the soft mattress as I came undone in his arms at the mercy of his mouth. 

“F-FUCK- Dean-”

My limbs twitched as they relaxed on the come-down, Deans tongue softly tracing up and down my opening. Without pulling away, he spoke in a husky tone:

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how many times I've reminisced about you moaning my name like that.”

The breath from his words made me shiver, and I moved to prop myself up on my elbows. 

“Ready for round two?” His voice remained low, not waiting for my inevitable confirmation before slowly dipping a finger into my still-clenching walls. The moan that slipped past my lips pulled a groan from Dean, a second finger joining the first as they curled up to push against the soft cushion hidden in the depths of my core. He knew where to find it with zero hesitation - his fingers seemingly acting on muscle memory as he beckoned another orgasm from me. He coaxed it forward, my inner nerves dangerously sensitive as the pleasure began to pool for a second time. With every motion of his finger, again and again, I started to feel the coil twist. I was in two minds on whether to be mortified by how easily he could pull a climax from my very soul, or impressed by it. Either way, he had me teetering on the edge a second time before a single flick of his tongue snapped the coil and euphoria claimed me once more.

His name merged with the endless moans spilling from my mouth, my hazy brain struggling to differentiate the two.

“Shit, you taste so good baby. I could devour you all night.”

“I wouldn't stop you.”

He grinned.

“As much as I would love to indulge you, I need to fuck you. Now.”

He pushed on the backs of my thighs, urging me to centre myself on the bed before he climbed back over me. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of his broad shoulders flexing under his weight, his skin damp with sweat from being trapped beneath my thighs.

He leant down to capture my mouth again, a kiss fueled with raw, carnal desire as he struggled to hold himself back. He shuddered under my fingertips as I trailed them down his torso to his belt, hastily unfastening the buckle and top button of his jeans. It was a joint effort to push them off his hips and down his thighs, but that's as far as they went. The feral need to be inside me had consumed him, and I'd barely withdrawn my hands from between us when he lined up and buried himself to the hilt. 

The burn and stretch was immediate - knocking the air from my lungs as I clutched his solid biceps like a lifeline, my nails indenting his scarred skin. He had the common decency to stay still for around ten seconds before his self restraint diminished yet again and he withdrew slowly. I could feel the divine ridges on his length through the immense build up of my slick and his spit, and as he eased back in he dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a gasp and a groan. A large, rough palm glided down my thigh, goosebumps in its wake as he grasped beneath my knee to rest my leg on his hip. Another moan filled the air between us at the new angle, the top of his cock kissing the soft, sensitive cushion inside. His mouth was hot on my neck as his hips found a rhythm against mine - a rhythm that gradually increased in speed with the intense pleasure unrelenting on my over-sensitive insides. My next impending climax swiftly appearing on the horizon.

“Dean,” I pleaded, my eyes cracking open to look up at him through welling tears, “I'm getting close again-”

He lifted his head, that play-boy grin finding his lips as he saw the mess I'd become at his touch; the mascara-stained tear tracks smudging on my cheeks and the unruly sex-hair was always a good sign of a good time.

“I need you to let go sweetheart - cum for me. Please…”

His words were the cherry on the cake for my undoing yet again and I felt my whole body explode with pleasure and tense up around him. The third orgasm of the night had my vision blurring when he cursed under his breath at my contracting walls, yet he didn't let up. He fucked me through the mind blowing bliss, not letting me catch my breath as a fourth climax hit me out of nowhere, the torturous attack on my g-spot making me feel close to blacking out.

“F-FUCK- Dean- Please- I can't,” my voice was hoarse from the moans and ragged breaths ripping from my throat every other second and my whole body trembled, slick with sweat from both myself and Dean. Despite the death grip I had on Deans cock, every involuntary clench making my knees twitch, he still wasn't finished. His powerful thrusts stuttered slightly before he pulled out, causing me to suck a breath through my teeth. Before I had a chance to query his actions he flipped me with ease, landing me flat on my stomach, my face buried in the soft quilt. Much like before, he didn't wait for an invitation to push back in, the overstimulated nerves in my core sending a jolt through every aching muscle in my body. The deeper angle pulled a cry from my lips when he bottomed out, and if I didn't know any better I would've said that his cock was in my ribcage. Deans large, warm hands took up residence on the supply flesh around my hips, tugging them up so my ass was in the air.

“Shit, (Y/n), with a view like this I'm not gonna last much longer- fuck,” Deans words were strained as he picked up the pace again, albeit this time there was an urgency to his movements. A desperate desire to experience the same Earth shattering euphoria that he had hand delivered to me. With my face in the fabric I snuck a hand down between my legs, finding the pleasure of circling my clit both a relief and an amplifier for the scorching pleasure Dean was inflicting. It didn't take long for him to tear my hand away, only to replace it with his own - pulling noises from my lips that were a whole new calibre of erotic that I didn't know I was capable of. My moans had an effect on Dean, and the hand that was on my hip, that was kneading my soft skin with a bruising grip had shot forwards and planted beside my head, bracing his weight above me. I couldn't see him but I could feel his solid chest against my back, his head dipping down to place rough kisses against my shoulder, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there. I prepared myself for the bruises I'd find on my body in the morning - his firm hold on me would have been almost painful given any other situation. That's not to forget the biting and sucking he was now subjecting my neck and shoulder blades to - the sensation setting my skin ablaze. Deans strained breaths were a tell for his own impending end, with his hips losing their strong rhythm as he panted out laboriously. The sound of him on the verge of bliss, accompanied by every other agonising ministration performed on my body had me unravelling one last time; one hand fisting the sheets whilst the other reached back, my nails brushing over Deans scalp and toying with his short, soft hair. The fluttering of my channel around his cock was all it took to bring him to his long awaited fervid finish. I trembled beneath him as he groaned into my ear, the sound something primal, something almost unhinged. We remained still for a moment, waiting for the post climax clarity to come along and make us regret our decision. He pulled out slowly, earning a hiss from both of us at the loss of warmth and intimate contact. The simultaneous feeling of emptiness and relief was an odd feeling, as I know full well he’d ruined me for anyone else - no one in Heaven or Hell could compete with that. Not that I wanted them to in the first place. Every nerve ending in my lower region fizzled with overstimulation, yet I couldn't have felt more relaxed; more satiated. For the first time in a very, very, long time, I felt complete. 

Dean grabbed the towel he'd left on the back of the chair and used it to catch the evidence of our intimacy, the wetness cooling quickly on my thighs as I pushed myself to sit on my knees. I turned and looked up at him, watching as he stood beside the bed, eyeing me nervously. I raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on my lips.

“What's wrong? Regretting the whole ‘No Regrets’ thing already?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you?” His voice held a crackle that equaled his nervous expression.

I shook my head. He looked down at his clothes on the floor.

“No, although I'm getting the impression from you that this was a one time thing,” he must've heard the disappointment when I spoke, his eyes flying up to meet mine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're picking your shit off the floor like you're about to leave, that's why.”

“You…want me to stay? I thought-”

“Did I fucking stutter when I said I still love you, Dean? Because I do, and it's all-consuming and to be totally honest, I never want to leave your side again.” Heat bloomed across my cheeks at my sudden proclamation. Deans grip on his clothes slackened, letting it all fall back to the floor. From the look on his face it was like I'd just declared him King of the world; like a light switched on behind his eyes and a smile threatened to spread across his face.

“Yeah?” 

I fiddle with my fingers in my lap, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Yeah-whoa!”

I didn't get the chance to feel bashful or embarrassed when Dean tackled me onto the bed. At first he peppered my still-damp skin with small kisses that tickled with his stubble, before placing his mouth over mine. I couldn't recall a time that he'd kissed me so softly, and accompanied by the gentle embrace of his arms with his fingers carefully threading through my hair, it was enough to bring me to tears.

“I've missed you so much,” my sniffles brought an almost relieved smile to his features as he pulled back and stroked my hair with overwhelming tenderness.

“I've missed you too, sweetheart.

So fucking much.”

----------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[doumadono]

Hello hello! I hope you’re having a good day🗣️❤️

I have a bit of an emergency request if u don’t mind.

I recently got surgery on my shoulder and the recovery has been… rough to say the least. I can’t lift my arm higher than 90 degrees and can’t pick up anything more than five pounds, this has made it where I’m unable to work which means I’m struggling to make ends meet. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life but I’m such an independent person that I have trouble asking for any help in any way, this has lead to me being in either a lot of pain while doing something I shouldn’t, or just absolutely defeated because I’m unable to do something as well as getting in multiple fights with friends and family bc of my stubbornness.

Anyways, could I have a shoto x fem reader where she’s kind of in a similar situation? Maybe like he lets her do things herself but only if it’s safe for her to do so and lets her know it’s okay to let people help her? I’m just really in a weird life phase rn and I’m trying to remain hopeful but it’s getting hard.

Anyways, I hope you have a lovely week❤️

-Jupiter<3

Learning to lean - Shoto x Reader

A/N: I’m very saddened to hear you’re going through this, but remember, it’s okay to ask for help. Your strength isn’t just in your independence, but also in knowing when to lean on others. This tough time will pass, and you'll come out even stronger on the other side. Stay hopeful and be kind to yourself!

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

You never thought something as simple as picking up a cup of tea could be such a monumental task. Your shoulder ached with every slight movement, a constant reminder of your surgery and the limitations it imposed. You gritted your teeth and tried to push through the pain, but the frustration was always lurking just beneath the surface.

The days since your surgery had been a whirlwind of pain, frustration, and a lot of sleepless nights. You hated feeling so helpless, unable to do even the simplest things without a sharp reminder of your injury. You were an independent person, always priding yourself on being able to handle things on your own. But now, everything had changed.

"Y/N, let me help you with that," Shoto's calm voice interrupted your struggle.

You glanced over at him, a pure stubbornness in your eyes. "I can do it myself," you muttered, not wanting to rely on anyone, not even your boyfriend.

Shoto walked over, his mismatched eyes filled with concern. "I know you can, but you don't have to do everything alone." He reached out, gently taking the cup from your trembling hand and setting it on the table.

A sigh escaped your lips, both from relief and frustration. "I hate this. I feel so useless."

Shoto crouched down beside you, his hand lightly touching your uninjured shoulder. "You're not useless, sweetie. You're recovering, and that's not something you have to do by yourself."

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. "But what if I never get better? What if I'm always like this?" You looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. "And I don't want to be a burden."

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to face him. "You're never a burden to me, little one. And you will get better. It takes time, but you will. And even if it takes longer than we hope, it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're strong, and you've already come so far."

You bit your lip, tears welling up. "I just… I don't want to feel weak."

Shoto's expression softened, and he pulled you into a gentle hug, extremely mindful of your injury. "Asking for help doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. And I'm here for you, no matter what. You should know that by now, sweetie."

You leaned into him, allowing yourself to relax for the first time in what felt like ages. "Thank you, Sho."

He smiled, his warmth seeping into you. "Now, how about we tackle this together? You tell me what you need, and I'll be your hands when you can't use yours."

A small laugh bubbled up despite your tears. "Deal."

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

Shoto had insisted on staying over, just to make sure you were okay.

You protested at first of course, but now you were grateful for his presence.

You made your way to the kitchen, your shoulder protesting with every step.

Shoto was at the stove, his back to you, flipping pancakes with a practiced ease. "Good morning, princess," he greeted without turning around. "How did you sleep?"

"Better, thanks," you replied, taking a seat at the table. "You didn't have to do all this, you know."

He turned to face you, a little smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to. Besides, it's not every day I get to cook for someone I care about."

You blushed, making a loud awww sound. "Well, it smells amazing."

He brought a plate over to you, setting it down with a flourish. "Bon appétit."

As you struggled to cut your pancakes with one hand, Shoto quietly slid the plate over to his side and began cutting them into smaller pieces for you. "Here you go, Y/N," he said softly, sliding the plate back to you with a warm smile.

You dug in, savoring the delicious meal. As you ate, you couldn't help but watch Shoto.

He moved around your kitchen with such grace, his every action filled with a quiet determination. You marveled at how thoughtful he was, always anticipating your needs before you even voiced them.

After breakfast, Shoto suggested a short walk outside.

You hesitated, knowing how much effort it would take, but his gentle encouragement made you agree.

He stayed close by your side, matching his pace to yours, his presence a comforting reassurance.

As you walked, the two of you talked about everything and nothing.

You found yourself opening up to him in ways you never had before, sharing your fears and frustrations. "Sometimes, I just feel so angry," you admitted, your voice trembling. "Angry at myself for getting hurt, angry that I can't do the things I used to."

Shoto stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes full of understanding. "It's okay to feel that way, Y/N. It's a natural part of the healing process. I'm here, right by your side, and you shouldn't hesitate to lean on me. You can fully rely on me, princess."

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I know, but it's hard to ask for help."

"I understand. But remember, it's not a sign of weakness. It's a sign of strength, to know when you need support and to accept it."

Over the next few days, Shoto's presence became a comforting constant. He allowed you to do what you could, but was always around to step in when you needed him.

Slowly, you began to accept his help without feeling guilty.

One evening, as you struggled to reach a book on a high shelf, Shoto was there in an instant. "I've got it," he said, retrieving the book effortlessly.

You smiled up at him, no longer feeling the sting of inadequacy. "Thanks, Shoto."

He handed you the book, his eyes twinkling. "Anytime, Y/N."

That night, as you sat together on the couch, Shoto turned to you with a serious expression. "Y/N, there's something I've been wanting to tell you."

You looked at him, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I care about you a lot. More than I can put into words. Seeing you in pain, struggling, it hurts me too. I want to be there for you, not just now, but always."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth flooding your chest. "Shoto, I… I care about you too. You've been my rock through all of this." Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they were tears of happiness. "Thank you, Shoto. For everything."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you."

"And I love you too," your voice was a soft whisper, gentle and warm like a summer breeze.

Shoto's love and support gave you the strength to keep going, to heal, and to embrace the future with hope.

[birdie-in-arcadia]

In Our Wake

Here is the long-awaited post script, my lovely, patient readers. This marks the end of the work; the end of quite a journey that we've gone on, and I thank you for tagging along with me. I write quite often, so if you'd like to check out the masterlist pinned to my profile, there's more works by me there. Enjoy! <3

POST SCRIPT - FOUR VOICES

Vessel

Love used to be something I watched from a distance. Something I held at arm’s length, too afraid it might fragment in my hands or worse, that I would be the one to break it. For a long time, it was enough just to protect her. To offer solace when everything else around her screamed. To hold space and not ask for anything in return. 

But love can’t live in shadows forever. And when she finally turned toward me, and saw me, it didn’t feel like triumph. It felt like home. I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need promises carved in stone.  I just need the small things we share now. The breath before she laughs. The way she reaches for me in the dark without thinking. She chose me. And every day, I choose her right back. And, if she’ll let me, for the rest of our lives. 

III 

If you’d asked me then, I would’ve told you I was in love. I would’ve said I was doing my best. That the anger wasn’t about her. That I never meant to hurt her. All of that is still true. And none of it’s enough. Loving someone doesn’t excuse the damage you leave behind or bottle up. Wanting to be better doesn’t heal the parts of them you broke while you weren’t trying to reserve yourself. But I’ve stopped asking her to carry that. Now, I carry it myself. And I’ve asked for help. I see a therapist once weekly and have since about five weeks after everything happened. 

I still love her. I think I always will. But loving her now means keeping my distance. It means turning that energy inward. Learning who I am without needing someone else to need me or fix me. Letting go wasn’t the hardest part. Forgiving myself might be. But I’m doing the work. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m doing it for anyone else’s sake. It’s okay to choose yourself for once. She's incredibly happy now, and realistically, that's all I ever wanted. And despite it all, I still have her friendship. Something I definitely don't deserve, but I'll never take advantage of it again.

IV 

People think silence means absence, but I’ve always believed it means respect and attention. When things were falling apart, I watched. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much to interfere before she was ready. Some truths can’t be told; they must be lived. 

I saw the way Vessel looked at her. The kind of stillness in his body when she entered a room. The ache in him, quiet and deep like roots under soil. And I saw her slowly reach toward that stillness like it was the only place she’d ever felt safe. 

There were moments I wished I could be the one to hold her like that. But I also knew the gentlest kind of love is the kind that never asks for more than someone is ready to give. So, I gave her silence. And I gave her space. And I gave her my quiet hope that she would find her way. She did, and I’m bloody proud of her for it. 

II 

Not all of us are built to carry the heavy stuff out loud. Me? I make tea. I crack jokes. I play until my hands and feet go numb and I feel like I can breathe again. I’m not the one people run to with their pain. But I’m always nearby. I watched us all unravel a bit; watched her trying to stitch herself back together with thread that kept fraying. Watched Vessel trying not to drown in everything he wasn’t saying. Watched III burn too bright and too fast. 

And through it all, I played. I played when no one was ready to speak. I played when the room got too heavy. To fill the void of silence. I played because someone had to remind us that we were still here. We’re different now. Better, I think. A bit bruised, a bit softer. But still playing together, still making music and sharing it with the world. And for me, that’s plenty enough. 

@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken here you go! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged here for future works.

I hope this brings a good close to such a long, wild ride. It was a blast to write, and I definitely have ideas for other multi-chapter fics, it's just about finding time to actually write them out that's difficult, given my current circumstances. Thank you for coming along for the ride with me, and I hope you see your username for future works! <3

[nononosthoughts]

Situationship w/woozi

Woozi x femreader

Part 3, last and finally part :3

Warnings : swearing, angst , situations, yerning :p (didn’t proof read)

Since that date Jihoon has been acting as if nothing changed or is going to happen, he was still his naturally distant self replying what felt like every three to five days with simple How are you, what are you doing today?, and once in a blue moon I miss you text. He would apologize from time to time saying that work is getting to him; that we have a lot of deadlines and projects to work on and that he simply cannot reply to me as fast as he would want to.

On the other hand, I was already trying to distance myself emotionally from him since what happened during the date told me all that I needed to know and what to expect from him. Even though he was never mine officially….I still want him to be mine, desperately and pathetically I hoped he would magically wake up one day before I left and want me how I want him.

As the days went by he started to reply less and less, I knew this was going to happen eventually… he was finally ghosting me. This act alone bothered me so much more to the point where I felt like I was genuinely feeling manic some days because of how much I was overthinking this entire situation. Just on the fact alone that we had a conversation and agreement where we BOTH said that if feelings were to die it’s better to simply tell the person than to just up and ghost them. This felt like some kind of karma that I had long awaited for, since I was a self-admitted serial ghoster and to be the ghostee in this case just stung a lot more than it should have. The ones that were almost something are the ones that hurt the most, but after sometime to think about the entire situation as a whole I don’t think he was ever mine at any point.

As time goes on and I get more and more closer to my departure date, he’s still a thought that comes to mind almost every other day. Especially since his last text to me was him saying how much he misses my lips, but that was now a month ago. After that last text, it was like he disappeared from my life completely, I was too proud and embarrassed to text him after that so I opted to leave things are they are for my sanity…

My pov

During the three months am I left to study abroad while studying, it was hard to think about him as much since I was in a new city, with a new language I had to learn, with roommates, and other classmates. So since I arrived I had something to occupy the part of my mind he would, my roommates and classmates kept me busy in between classes.

One of my roommates though had a boyfriend who was back at home and their long-distance relationship would remind me of what could’ve had (wanted to have) and whenever she could talk about him she would, so I would often just smile and nod. Since I was single I forced myself to get back into the dating scene especially since I’m probably never going to see those people after I leave. I went on three simple dates with some local guys, and none of them amounted to much they were just sweet guys who I was just simply passing the time with.

Since jihoon, I felt as if it was my fault for allowing my self to develop feelings for someone before I can confirm that they’ll feel the same way. As time passes and I found myself thinking less and less of him, I slowly stopped rereading our old texts as I made myself forget about him in this three-month span of time. Even if it was hard at first, not thinking about him became more and more less difficult. The fact that I let him walk away from me and didn’t chase and beg him to be with me, I just simply thought I wasn’t his person and I shouldn’t let it affect me anymore or think about him. Although I didn’t think about him for the first couple of weeks I arrived back home until….

Jihoons pov

Distancing himself from her felt like it was a necessary measure, he didn’t want to rush into something that he wasn’t certain with yet (even if she did literally spell it out for him). He wanted her to enjoy her time abroad without having to worry about him, he didn’t want to feel like he was holding her back in any way. Even though it stung a lot at first cause she didn’t even try to reach out initially “Why wouldn’t she reach out if she wanted me too badly” he thought to himself in repeat at first. But then he remembered how she see that she wasn’t going to chase or beg for him if he wasn’t going to be upfront about his feelings.

That’s when he figured out that he messed up greatly, when he realized that he knew that it was too late to reach out. He knew that he had my stuff so much that it made him feel so bad about how he treated her. He couldn’t think of any way to make it up to her, so he just decided to leave it as it was; leaving everything unsaid no matter how Badly he Wanted to Tell Her.

As the weeks passed by he drowned himself in work trying to find something to keep him consistently busy, but when he would lay at night alone all he could think about is her. For lack of better judgment, he decided to scope out the dating scene again, nothing but meaningless conversation and hookup that weren’t enough to suffice for him.

On one of his dates as the girl he was with was talking about something he found himself spacing out realizing how much he misses the way she tapped her fingers on the table when she would be nervous, the way she smiled at him whenever they made eye contact, the way she laughed at her own jokes…..

After that lame excuse of date ended he was all alone in his apartment, thinking about her… wondering what she’s been up to, and if she’s enjoying her time studying abroad…

He decides to stalk her Instagram, seeing pictures of her smiling, in new surroundings, and with people she most likely met while she was there. The feeling of longing started to build up in his chest seeing the smile he missed so much, all the inside jokes in her comments. Selfishly he wanted to be in on them as well, wanting to know all the small details of her day there like how were her classes going, if she’d eaten, where she’d gone…… but he couldn’t and it’s all his fault…

From that day onwards he decided to stop with all the pointless dates, all he wants is her and he will need to figure out how to get her back.

As weeks continue to pass he works on himself a lot, going to therapy, going to the gym, and drafting and drafting an apology text for her but no amount of words can express how sorry he is and how badly he wants her…

He knows she’s back home now since she posted a picture of her dog, and something just comes over him he grabs his keys and heads out the door…..

Present

My comes to my door and says there’s someone outside who's asking for me, I question her asking “Do you know them?” She simply shrugs and says “It’s a man, and I didn’t catch his name”.

I peek out my window before I head out of my room to see if I can recognize the car parked outside but I can’t. I head out of my room to the front door and freeze when I see who’s at my door waiting for me. I almost want to turn around and run back into my room, I wasn’t expecting to see him ever in my life but yet here he is…..I clear my throat as I walk up to him and greet him.

“Hi jihoon..”

His head snaps up to see me. He smiles softly as he takes in the simple sight of me.

“Hi…” he said softly

“What are you doing here?” I say trying to conceal my defensive tone as they close the door behind me so we can talk outside. I take in his features, he looks tired… my heart almost wants to make me feel bad but I push those feelings away since I will not allow myself to feel any type of way for him…

“Look, I’m really sorry…. With how we ended things-“

“WE?? There is no we in this situation, all I know is that YOU ghosted me. Ended things wasn’t a mutual decision jihoon”

He flinches slightly, he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as he wanted it to be.

“I am truly sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…. I was just going through stuff and I thought it wasn’t fair to drag you with me..”

“So you didn’t want to hurt me by doing the mature and respectful thing and TELL me that you didn’t feel ready yet. So you ghosted me instead…. You have no idea how much that hurt me jihoon”

“I know, I know I am so sorry from the bottom of my heart, and if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you I will do it. Being away from you made me realize how much I truly like you, please let me make this up to you” he reaches to take my hand.

“I don’t know, you hurt me a lot, I can forgive you with time but I don’t know if I can ever trust you again” I pull my hand away from his.

“Please… I’ll get down on my get on my knees and beg if I have to, words can’t start to describe how sorry and upset I am at myself” he takes my hand and squeezes it softly.

I sigh softly and I look at his hand which is holding mine “I just don’t want to get hurt again”

“I won’t but you, please just give me another chance to make things right” he says in a pleading tone, not hiding how desperate he is now.

I looked at his face trying to find any trace of uncertainty, but there wasn’t any all I saw was the disparity in his eyes waiting for my answer. I smile softly and nod “I’ll give you another chance jihoon, but we’re taking things slow okay?”

Jihoon feels his heart skip a beat as he hears me agreeing to try again, he almost wants to jump up and cheer. He pulls me in and hugs me tightly as he whispers,

“I promise I won’t let you down..”

Part 1 -> part 2

[shipmistress9]

Made to Order - 5

Previous Chapter

AO3

The next few weeks fly by in a blur. At least three times a week, Violet stops by my shop, to see more samples of the flowers we make. It’s just an excuse of course, merely a justification to meet her again regularly, and I think she must have seen through it by now. But if she did, she never mentions it.

Her visits are never repetitive. Sometimes, she only stays for half an hour, her lunch break, and sometimes, she spends a good portion of her free day here. Sometimes, Liam is here as well and he jokes around, making all three of us laugh. Sometimes, it’s just the two of us, which makes the conversations softer, more real. Sometimes, she brings a book and reads, mostly when I’m busy finishing a cake in time, and she’s just content with being here. What always stays the same, though, is her generally good mood and the cup of hot chocolate I prepare for her without asking first by now.

We also talk a lot. Sometimes, I sit with her for a while, as long as I can afford it, and sometimes, we call through the entire shop when I’m preparing some dough or filing. We talk about everything, books and movies and music we enjoyed, things we despise, about things we experienced and things we dream of. I learn that she only recently returned from working abroad for six months, and I tell her of the time Liam played a prank on our father, making it seem like some evil creatures were messing with his paperwork.

And with every time I see her, I fall more for her. How could I not when she’s the smartest and funniest and just straight up most fucking brilliant woman I’ve ever met? When her smiles bewitch me time and time again, when her laughter is haunting me in my dreams. When my mind keeps wandering and wondering about what it would feel like to kiss her.

It’ll all end with her wedding day, but this is a truth I try not to think about too much. Which is easy as, aside from talking about the cake, neither of us ever brings it up.

. o O o .

“Okay, I’m ready,” Violet says, making herself comfortable in what by now became her place in my alcove sitting area. “I only had some vegetable sticks for lunch, and I’m starving.”

Chuckling, I place our usual cups of hot chocolate in front of her. “That’s a shame, really. If you just gulp down all the cakes then you won’t even know how they tasted.”

She wrinkles her nose, looking incredibly cute while doing so. “Guess I should show some restraint then. Or this whole tasting will have been for nothing.” She grins and I grin back on reflex. Interacting with her became so simple by now. Easy as breathing.

I leave her again to get the plate with the taste samples I prepared for her, and when I return, her eyes are growing wide.

“Oh, wow!” She stares literally with her mouth hanging open. “That’s… a lot of cake.”

I only allow myself a tiny smile at her reaction, even though inwardly, I’m grinning like an idiot. There are eight mini cakes on this plate, definitely more than I would usually choose for a tasting. But I long since gave up on pretending she’s just another customer. She is special to me, whether I want it or not. I keep reminding myself that she’ll marry in less than a month, but the words have lost their bite by now. As if they’re not real, just a dark cloud in the distance.

“Well, you only need to taste them all. Afterwards, I can help finish them off.” I hold up two cake forks.

Violet’s eyes gleam with mirth as she reaches for one, then glances down at the cakes in front of her. “Okay, these look absolutely delicious.” She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper, a copy of the list she gave me a couple of weeks ago. “So, what are all of these?”

My lips twitch at how prepared she came. Violet, I’ve learned by now, is nothing if not organised. “I picked five variations directly from your list, those with the names behind them as I assume those are their favourites?” Violet nods. “Right so we have red velvet cake for Cianna,” I begin to explain, pointing at the according cake. “Black Forest cake for Dain, marzipan for Amber, vanilla strawberry for Nyra, and lemon cheesecake again for Dain.”

“That would be Dain’s father,” Violet explains, probably because she noticed my frown at her fiancé having two cakes on this list. “Dain Aetos senior.”

She wrinkles her nose again, more annoyed this time, and I stifle my comment about that man apparently being rather convinced of himself. Violet’s gaze switches to the other three cakes, then throws me a questioning look. “And what about these?”

“These are my additions. Not from the list but still some I think you should try. The first is a variation of the lemon cheesecake, with extra blueberries. Which elevates the taste immensely, in my opinion.” And adds a beautiful violet colour once the cake is cut, but I'm not saying that out loud. Instead, I point at the next slice. “This is chocolate cake. An old family recipe and a general customer favourite. And the last one… Well, let’s just say I have a gift of guessing which filling is someone’s favourite. And since this one wasn’t on the list, and you didn’t have a favourite there anyway, I thought you should try it.”

At that, Violet raises one eyebrow at me, but her lips quickly twitch back into a smile. “I’m already picking everything about the cake, so no need to put my favourite on the list when I can just choose what tastes best, anyway. Besides, who said mine isn’t among these already?”

I lift my hands in defeat. “Fair enough.”

She gives me another mockingly scrutinising glare, then turns her attention back to the cakes. “Well, then let’s get to it, then.”

She starts at the beginning with the red velvet cake, and I fight not to let it get to me as she moans at the feathery texture and taste, her eyes even fluttering shut in bliss. Fuck, I’ll never be able to get rid of this image again. “Oh, wow!” she exclaims. “This is… wow! I don’t know what to say. You really made this cake yourself?”

“Of course, I did.” I shake my head, snorting, even though I only have to act being offended a little bit. “What did you expect? That I run this shop just because I have nothing better to do?”

Her eyes fly open wide, and she almost chokes on the cake in her mouth. “No, that’s… I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know. It didn’t really register that you’re a baker until now. Seems too ordinary for someone like you.”

I frown, about to ask what she means, but she already turned her attention to the next cake, so I let it slide.

This time, for the Black Forest cake, she doesn’t seem quite as convinced, though. “Something’s not right?” Did I mess something up?

But Violet shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. Perfect, I guess. I just really don’t like cherries in cakes. And I forgot for a hot second that those would be in there.”

I frown again, but this time, I don't swallow the question. “Why was it on the list when you don’t even like it?”

“It’s Dain’s favourite,” she shrugs, as if that’s a good enough excuse. Then she turns, somewhat talking to the cake directly. “But I’m sorry, Dainy-bear. You said I have free rein over the cake, so this is off the list.”

I press my lips together not to laugh out loud. Her antics are brilliant.

“I’m sorry,” Violet sighs. “I should have told you beforehand that I’m not the biggest fan of this cake. And…” She grimaces. “It’s even worse with marzipan. I’m sure your cake is amazing, but I hate marzipan.”

“That’s okay.” I let my own fork sink into the juicy cake. “Means there’s more for me.” And I mean it. I don’t mind that I made these cakes for nothing. I didn’t expect her to pick those, anyway.

That her Dain put them on the list regardless of her tastes is another matter. But I try to push my emotions down by reminding myself that she’s obviously happy and not troubled by her upcoming wedding anymore. If this is what she wants, then I really have no grounds to interfere.

The next couple of cakes are more to her taste again. According to her, the vanilla strawberry cake is delicious, though maybe a bit simple for a wedding cake, and I wholeheartedly agree. The lemon cheesecake seems to be her favourite so far, even though she’s visibly reluctant to agree with her future father-in-law despite him never knowing about it. And her little smirk when she cuts the lemon blueberry cheesecake tells me that she instantly made the connection about the colour.

“Okay, but these blueberries,” she mumbles with her mouth still half full of cake. “They really make a difference for the taste. The fresh sour aroma of the lemons with the sweet cheesecake is already so good, but combined with the fine acidness of the blueberry, it’s just perfect.”

Fighting my smirk, I accept that rational and perfectly accurate explanation for why, obviously, the version with blueberries is better.

“Okay, these were great.” Violet sighs contentedly, making a few notes onto her paper. “But what’s the deal with this chocolate cake?”

A sly smile tugs at my lips and I give her an offhanded shrug. “Give it a try.”

She throws me a bemused glance and I watch closely for her reaction as she puts the fork into her mouth. As her eyes widen as she chews, as she glances down with a puzzled frown and quickly takes another bite. This never gets old.

“By Amari,” she mutters. “This… this is….” She takes a third bite and lets out a sweet little moan that I’ll probably never get out of my head again. “This isn’t just a chocolate cake,” she exclaims, staring at me. “I mean… it is? But it’s by far the best chocolate cake I’ve ever had. It’s so… rich? Is that the word? How did you do that?”

My chest swells, at her praises but even more at her clear delight. “Sorry, can’t tell you that. As I said, it’s a recipe I learned from my grandma. A secret recipe.” I wink at her.

Violet snorts. “Okay, fair enough. But I get why this is a customer favourite. It’s fantastic.”

“It really is.” I take a bite for myself, and give myself a moment to just enjoy the taste. “It’s my favourite, too, by the way. So, does it make it onto your list?” I point at her paper.

When I look up, though, Violet is watching me with a weird expression on her face, but quickly turns her attention back to the cakes. “Ah, no, sadly not. It’s fantastic, but Dain isn’t a big fan of chocolate cake. I’ll just have to enjoy it while I can.” She takes another bite, a funny little smile playing around her lips.

She looks so damn pretty when she smiles.

I also take another bite. Apparently, we’re just finishing this cake off directly, and I’m certainly not complaining. “He doesn’t like chocolate cake? What does he think is the basis for Black Forest cake?” Is he one of those guys who's ‘too manly’ to enjoy something as simple as chocolate cake? If so, he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought.

“But it’s not pure chocolate cake?” Violet tries to explain, but then shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know. There’s certainly more to Black Forest cake than just the chocolate. The cherries, for example.” She shudders.

Yep, her Dain is an idiot.

“Then he and all the guests will have to miss out on this cake. Their loss.”

“You’re not exactly suffering from a too small ego, are you?” She throws me another grin.

I snort. “When it comes to my grandma’s chocolate cake? Certainly not.” We exchange another look, then we both burst out laughing. It’s so easy to joke around with her, so simple. Natural, even.

“Okay, one cake left,” Violet eventually says, returning back on topic. “Will you tell me now what it is, at least? Or do I have to go into this one blind?” She eyes the last cake with the nondescript white frosting with a suspicious look.

I hum, pondering, but where’s the point in keeping her in the dark for a few more seconds? “It’s raspberry mascarpone.” I can’t even say what it is or how it works. But sometimes, I get these distinct impressions about which cake would fit someone. And so far, I never missed.

Violet suddenly goes very quiet, though. “Raspberry mascarpone?” she almost whispers, every hint of a smile wiped off her face as she gazes down at the cake.

Unusually tense at her sudden mood change, I watch her cut a piece, slowly, and bring it to her mouth. What’s up with her? Is there something wrong with this kind of cake? Did I make a mistake there? It even seems like her hand is trembling, too.

Violet chews quietly, her eyes vacant. Then her lower lip starts to tremble and a moment later, tears roll down her cheeks. “Ah, shoot. Sorry.” She quickly wipes them away. “That was…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“N-no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Even though I have no idea what just happened. “Is… everything okay?”

Violet sniffs, but a small smile returns to her face. “Yeah, it’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting this.”

Chewing my lips, I ponder what to do. I know I probably should let it rest. But when have I ever listened to that voice of reason when it comes to her? “And what was it? If I may ask.”

She swallows, absentmindedly eating another bite. “It’s… my dad. He died when I was very young. I only have a few memories of him, but one of the most vivid ones is how he always used to make what he called desert breakfast on the Sundays my mum wasn’t home. Probably to distract us from thinking about where else she might be.”

Right, she’d mentioned she grew up in a military family.

“And this is what he always made for me. Raspberries with mascarpone. Not in a fancy cake like this, but… it tasted just like this.” She sniffles again, but with a smile this time. “So you really don’t have to apologise. In fact, I should be thanking you—” she laughs, short but true. “—for essentially giving me a Ratatouille moment.”

“Well, I guess you’re welcome then,” I reply, trying to ignore how my heart is brimming with happiness for her. “So, which one would you like for your big cake?” I ask to change the topic back to something more sober. For her and for my sake alike. “The raspberry mascarpone then?”

Violet takes a moment to think about it, but then shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. This is… I don’t know. Too personal for this huge event.”

I nod, understanding, even though this again makes me resent her Dain. Her wedding day should be special, dammit. Having this cake as a reminder of her dead father could be a comfort, maybe a way of having him there with her. But instead, it seems like she doesn’t really care much about their big party at all, this memory of her father too precious to sully it with this show of appearance.

“I think…” Her gaze roams over the other cakes. “I think the lemon cheesecake is the best choice. Also, this will make the Colonel happy, that the cake he so graciously pays for is exactly to his liking. Now, do we use the version with or without the blueberries?” She ponders, eating another piece from each cake.

I hesitate, but ultimately can’t hold back. “If I may make a suggestion?”

“Sure!” She looks up at me expectantly, her usual happy smile back on her face. I’m happy to see it again, but equally happy that I got to see her tears, as well. That she opened up to me.

I quickly focus on the cakes again. “If you pick the one with blueberries, it would also fit the decoration. You and Liam decided on purple orchids as the highlights, right?”

“Yes!” Violet straightens. “Do you think he could match the colour to this blueberry cake?”

“He’d be offended you even asked that,” I snort. “Well, since I’ll be making the cake after he makes the flowers, the hue would vary, I guess. But normal people wouldn’t notice much of a difference.”

Violet giggles; Liam’s and my squabbling is always good to make her laugh. “Then that’s settled. Lemon blueberry cheesecake it is.”

“Perfect!” I don’t need to put this into her order form, not directly, at least. As if I would forget anything when it comes to her. As if I could…

We finish off the cakes, talking about this and that again. I take over the marzipan, leaving the Black Forest cake for when Liam comes home from his classes tonight. Meanwhile, Violet visibly enjoys her raspberry mascarpone cake, and I make a mental note to always have at least some tartlets with this filling conveniently lying around for her. She deserves a treat for all the crap her fiancé puts her through.

“Mmmhh, I really could get used to this,” she sighs as we share the other cakes. “Not for every day, or I won’t fit into my dress anymore. Let alone any other clothes.” She chuckles. “But just… getting to eat such delicious cakes every now and then, just because and without any special occasion.”

“You’re welcome to stop by anytime you want, you know?” I lean forward for a piece of chocolate cake, the one closest to her, but this time do not retreat.

Shit, am I flirting with her? I shouldn’t be doing that. But I also shouldn’t have said that in the first place. It’s too big an opening for her to worm her way deeper into my life. And yet, I don’t regret it. I know it’s stupid, but I want her to stop by, to keep stopping by even after her wedding.

“Maybe I will,” Violet hums, smiling in a way that’s hard to interpret. “Just to get more of these delicious treats.” She mimics me, picking some of the red velvet cake and not leaning back again.

“Not that I would prepare those for you specifically,” I lie. “Just to use up any left-overs.”

“Of course,” she smirks, as if seeing right through me. “But I don’t mind any left-overs if they taste like this.”

She manoeuvres another piece of strawberry cake into her mouth, and I’m having a hard time looking away. Fuck me, that mouth. In an attempt to regain at least some composure, I get some more cake on my fort as well, no idea which one I picked, and aim for my mouth without taking my eyes off her—and miss spectacularly. There’s enough on my lips to know it was the lemon cheesecake, but most of it landed right next to my mouth, right in my face.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the absurdity of the moment feeling like time has stopped. And then we burst out laughing. I should probably feel embarrassed and there’s a hit of it, too, in a distant corner of my mind. But how could I feel bad about something that makes her laugh so beautifully, makes her eyes sparkle like this.

“Just great,” I snort, reaching for a napkin. “How to make an utter fool of yourself without even saying one word.”

“At least the mouth was involved.” Violet watches me clean up, her mouth hidden behind her conveniently placed hand. “But I don’t know about the utter fool. Some could say it’s endearing, not being perfect all the time.” Her eyes gleam with mirth, and I snort, shaking my head at her.

She doesn’t mean it, not like that. She can’t.

I put the napkin down, fighting to keep my thoughts straight. “I’m far from perfect. Right now, I’m trying to think of something to say to save my dignity, and come up entirely empty.”

She chuckles. “No matter what you say, with that bit of frosting still on your face, your dignity is screwed.”

I really am making a fool of myself. “I missed something? Shit.” I reach for another napkin, but she beats me to it, standing up to lean over and bring her hand to my face.

“Yeah, right here.”

With her palm on my cheek, her thumb wipes at a spot right below the corner of my mouth. And I freeze. Her touch, while soft, sends a shock through my body, so much more intense than that first little brush of fingers so many weeks ago. I can’t breathe, can only stare at her face, so much closer to mine than ever before. I gaze into her eyes, even prettier from up close if that’s possible, seeing the equal surprise about our sudden proximity mirrored there. Inhale her surprisingly floral scent, as if it’s trying to make good on her name. If I only do so much as lean in a tiny bit, I could kiss her, and right now, I don’t know whether I have the strength to pull away.

Without my help, my eyes drop down to her lips, shimmering with that pearly sheen, and my own lips part on their own accord. My heart’s beating like a riot of dragon wings, my breathing shallow and quick, and if my senses don’t betray me completely, she fares little better. Letting out the tiniest of sweet noises, Violet’s eyes fall closed and she leans in even further.

And I can’t fight it anymore.

I move to breach the last distance between us, to surrender to my failure and give in to what I desire most—when a tiny light startles me. I don’t know where it came from, maybe a car driving by and throwing a random ray of late sunshine into my shop. Only to get caught and reflected on her hand.

On the stone in her cheap engagement ring.

Sucking in a harsh breath, I pull back, all but jumping out of my seat. Getting as far away from her, from the temptation, as possible.

“I-I’m sorry,” I gasp, looking anywhere but at her. “That was…”

But I don’t get to finish the sentence. Because before I can utter even one more word, Violet runs out of the shop, the door falling shut behind her.

. o O o .

AN: Uh oh... That was close... 😶

I'm not entirely sure yet whether the end of this story fits into one chapter or whether it's goign to end up getting split again. Knowing me probably the latter. 😅 On another note, I have Violet's backstory about what happens here loosely written out. Should I add it at the end, maybe as an epilogue where the tells Xaden about it? 🤔

Next Chapter

[lavendelhummel]

20 Questions about writing 2.0

One year ago @lilolilyr tagged me in this ask game and I answered it. I thought it might be fun to take the questions again and see what has changed and what hasn’t (probably most of it), since this past year I have actually interacted with fandom and not just been shy in my corner. Here is what I said last year (it was a year and a week ago, okay, but this last week was interesting because I had something huge that kept me from writing the past few months happen the week before and I am now trying to recover and wrap my head about the fact that my life changed quite drastically), let’s see what I’m saying now:

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

16 ;) quite a few more than last years 7, but most of the new ones are one-shots, only one finished multichapter and one multichaptered WIP (Jump).

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

209,412 words. Last year it was 125k and seeing as there are quite a few WIPs waiting in my folders for a while I thought I’d actually end up writing 100k words of fic this year, but seeing as I moved 4 times during that time and kind of finished a degree (hi I am a doctor now, someone remind me to delete this, I don’t want to doxx myself but need to repeat it so I can actually believe it), I think it’s kind of okay to only have written what I have and I am a it vexed that I did let this self-set number stress me in addition to the pretty big stress I had anyway. I think I wrote some nice things and certainly developed as a writer! (As well as as a… ah best not say it twice in one paragraph)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Last year I said Moiraine and Siuan from The Wheel of time here, which I wrote less for this past year but I’d still count, I have 1 1/2 wips for them and updated one of my fics in that fandom last spring. I also have one fic in the WoT verse with different characters (exciting)! I also said that I once wrote for I Care A Lot, and well, it’s still true that that was my entry to posting fic, but also I’m not going back (nope, not happening). This past year I wrote mostly Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13! That was great fun! I am also playing with a few ideas for Star Trek: deep space 9 at the moment, but haven’t yet written anything. 

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

 The first three are the same as last year (the I care a lot - one shot collection, Siuaraine medical school AU, other AU for them). The other two are the the first door for last years B&W advent calendar (coolest project ever, see below), and my coolest fic: mermaid B&W AU (only Helena is a mermaid. She arrives in Myka’s apartment above her bookstore via her old-new washing machine from Pete’s laundromat. Bathtubes are not very comfortable to live in.)

I should add that neither of these two has many kudos, none of my fics apart from hat ical one has, which shows that it’s extremely fandom dependent because that one is by far worse than my newer ones - just in a fandom with very little fic. 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES! Why?! Because I like talking to people! And getting a comment is the best so I want to tell people that they are the best! Also I like talking and talking and try to make me shut up, it’s harder than you think! (Last year I had a screenshot for the weirdest comment I ever got here, from a guest who named themself „weird ass“ and said nothing but „tea snob“, I still don’t know if they meant me or Moiraine, so I asked them. So yeah I reply. Even to the weird asses)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Most of what I write has a happy ending, yeah I am boring like that. But for Laundry Day, afore mentioned Mermaid AU, I left two possible endings, one in which Helena learns to live with what she’s lost, but it is clear that there is grief, that she is still a fish out of water and that while they make it work, it is not easy going. And then, because I wanted to wrap the mystery fantasy part up and needed the satisfaction of bundling up all loose threads I added an epilogue, a sugary, ‚happiest ending of them all’ epilogue… so yeah. Other than that I only have the one I mentioned last year about Helena dealing with her grief by reading Jacques Prévert’s poetry, which also ends on a soothing note but, I mean it’s Helena, and it’s Prévert. Let’s be honest, we all know why I absolutely adore Prévert, oh god, make me shut up now before I start (do you want to know which cool rare books of his I found?)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well. Happ*iest*. I did just mention that the epilogue of Laundry Day is the happiest ending of them all, right? I also think Pretty Picture has a pretty fluffy cozy ending (winter, go read it now ;)) ending. Flower crowns is just pure fluff, so that doesn’t count as *ending*, it’s just happy in its entirety. 

The medical school AU: would have been nice to get them all the way through it so they could celebrate at the end right? Though I had plans to make it go on after the ending of uni so Lan could come in and after a time jump the ef5 as well, so not the actual ending but a *moment*. Anyway that didn’t work out, and the ending they have is very nice and rather happy as well. Think about it, that is a much happier ending than I am feeling having actually finished medical school now (but let’s not talk about my inability to celebrate myself, nor my exhaustion). 

8. Do you get hate on fic?

I did already mention "weird ass", right? Yeah also mentioned last year how the very first comment I got was pretty discouraging. But I wouldn’t call it hate, no. I mostly get very, very, little reaction to my fics anyway, so missing the positive kind but not the negative kind. 

9. Do you write smut?

No. Not because I don’t like reading it, but because I am incapable of it. Sad, but it is what it is. I did get closer than ever, in Fly Me To The Moon! Everyone gasping, yes scandalous look how close I am alluding to it!!! But yeah, still nothing happening, if anyone ever wants to pick up where I left off, feel free, that’d be fun! (I also have a few other fade to black scenes, but this is *different*… kinkier? in a not on page happing way?) 

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope, also don’t read them. It’s simply something that doesn’t interest me. 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. Or at least, not as far as I know. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. My fics are not very well known, so someone wanting to base a work on it/translate would be surprising. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! One with @lilolilyr , which was super cool, but mostly we did the advent calendar last year!!!! That was super duper duper duper fun! Seriously guys, I enjoyed it so much and wish it had worked out again (I did have a cool idea for it, as I laid out on discord, but in the end it was simply not possible for me to do anything writing/fandom related (or basically anything but survive) in November and even now in December I do not know yet if I’ll be able to. Depends on how well this resting thing I’m trying out works, because at the moment my brain is still fried. Even writing this is giving me a headache right *sad emoji*)

But yes, writing that together was amazing.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I’ll just name the same ones, Moiraine/Siuan, Myka/Helena and recently I’ve come to like Kiradax, but that’s obviously not all-time material yet, since, well 'recently'. 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Hmm, I do hope (and think!) I’ll finish all those that I once worked on seriously. Wait, the Helena reads Astrid Lindgren one, I’m not sure… There is also one super short Siuaine one, but that was never serious. 

Hm, maybe I also won’t make the Nyneave&Semirhage one??! I do hope so, but it is a bit out of my league… HMMM

Mostly there are some fun ideas that I thought I’d write, a lot actually, but what I seriously wanted to do was Siuraine Mermaid AU, and B&W MRI AU, and I don’t think they’ll happen, alongside a few others. But that’s life! 

Last year I mentioned the Uni-AU here, and I do consider that one finished now, not as I envisioned originally but it has an ending that makes sense and is an ending and I probably won’t write more (never say never). 

16. What are your writing strengths?

Urghh that question. Someone important (professionally, not personally to me) said „Why not simply believe in yourself?“ To me the other day. Well I couldn’t very well tell him about my incessant selfdoubt across a conference table with 3 other very important, and three somewhat less important people, watching, could I? So I will try this again and also try to say something else here than last year. 

…

@rinari7 said my dialogue feels alive! I think I am also able to get into the heads of people and write thought-strands pretty realistically. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think those thought-strands sometimes can get too much, and I loose myself in them. In general my sentences are way too long, for that I blame Cicero, who was a very forming influence to twelve year old wannabe-writer me. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

 Haha. Yeah. Yeah. It’s good. We are talking other language than English right? I love making my characters speak French. I also love adding German puns. It’s what’s happening in my head! I’ve been thinking disturbingly much in English last year, but at the core that’s it, my brain is wired in Frallemand (Freutsch just doesn’t work, we all agree, right?) and I cut most of it out because I want other people to be able to read it but, speaking multiple languages is very normal for me. I have friends with whom I speak certain languages and others others, and who have yet others with each other. I am rather limited with only my three fluent ones, but only one? Yeah, no, that’s very unnatural to me. So I won’t overuse it in fic for the sake of readability but I do appreciate it when it comes my way.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

As I said I care a lot. You will notice that it was my first right away and… don’t maybe. I have nicer newer ones. 

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ouhhhhh. Pretty picture? One of my most recent ones, so maybe I’m biased. 

Laundry day!!! Yes, that was incredible fun! 

I also want to mention the Prévert fic (The earth that spins and spins and spins) again because I still like it and not a lot of people did. 

And I also have a Siuaraine Mermaid fic and it’s fun and weird and thus my fav for that fandom (not even AU, somehow?!)  

I am just gonna go ahead and tag people even though I took this ask game out of its original setting: @lilolilyr if you want to reflect on the past year as well, @trollocks-in-my-bollocks @lakeofsilverpike @purlturtle @cozcat @onaperduamedee @anandabrat @thatordinaryoddity maybe you have fun with this, if not there obviously is no pressure to do it!

[of-canes-and-manes]

04: A Reminder to Slow Down

Tim had just recovered from an abscess on the back of one of his legs only to get another, this one on his side. I had already walked around his stall and the perimeter of his turn out, and there were a total of four screws in two different locations that he must have been getting caught on. My dad had a plan to remove those screws, and in the meantime, it was up to me to continue hot packing Tim’s abscess twice a day.

This was a simple enough procedure; I filled up a clean bucket with the hottest water I could get from the tap, tossed in a clean washcloth, and brought it down to the barn, where I held the washcloth against the abscess until it cooled, refreshing the washcloth as needed until the water in the bucket was no longer hot. All in all it was a twenty minute task, and what is a mere twenty minutes in the grand scheme of things?

Unfortunately, I’ve also been having an increase in health issues myself. My urological symptoms have been worsening just in time for my new urology office to reschedule my urgent appointment out another five weeks and then stop returning my calls altogether; I’ve started dropping things and having more stiffness in my wrists and fingers than usual; I now need to be reminded of things I had been told only hours before; words have become elusive, especially when I’m speaking aloud. I had been on the phone all day every work day for almost three months, between waiting on hold and waiting for offices to call me back.

Taking twenty minutes every morning and evening to hot pack Tim for another week straight just seemed like the worst way to spend my time, especially with how limited my energy had been. There was just too much to do.

On this particular day, I was especially frustrated with how long every single task was taking. I’ve come to learn that when I take my time I’m capable of more tasks than when I rush, and yet I rush anyway, trying to do everything as fast as I can in the hopes that I’ll actually finish the work I need to do. This day was no different. I just wanted to get down to the barn, hot pack Tim’s abscess, and get back to the house so that I could return to my housework and phone calls. I didn’t want to spend any more time or energy than necessary in the barn, even if my fixation happened to be the horses.

Tim must have sensed my frustration, because he walked away from me every time I tried to press the washcloth to his side despite the flake of hay I had given him. He was usually content to stand still while I did the hot packing as long as he had hay to munch on, and I had made it a point to get the hay before I tried to do anything else. But after several long minutes of him continuing to move away from me, I had no choice but to put down the washcloth and take a break.

I leaned against the jam of his stall doorway, and finally he stood still. After watching me for a moment, he put his head down to grab some hay. Then he lifted his head to watch me again, and I felt compelled to explain myself to him.

I told Tim about how I couldn’t keep up with all the phone calls from various doctors offices, and how worried I was about the new symptoms I was experiencing. I told him how much I was struggling to finish everything I had to do on a daily basis, and how I couldn’t keep up with my housework and my hobbies and my research. I apologized to him for how I had been rushing through his hot packing lately, and promised I would try not to do that anymore. And Tim didn’t interrupt once; he just listened to me until I had said everything.

When I finished, Tim raised his head and put his nose to my chest, searching for a treat. I didn’t have any treats, but I scratched his nose and thanked him for listening to me. He pushed his nose into my hand a few times before going back to his hay, and all at once my frustration evaporated.

After I had rested enough, I went back to the bucket and grabbed the washcloth. This time when I pressed it against his side, Tim didn’t move away from me. He looked back a few times, sure, but he otherwise he was content to be cared for while he ate away.

The hot packing still took as long as it always did, but this time I was able to focus on the heat of the washcloth and the warmth of Tim’s body underneath, and by the time the water in the bucket had cooled, I still wasn’t ready to go back into the house. Instead I lingered in Tim’s stall, sitting on an overturned bucket and watching him eat. It had been my intention to spend more time with Tim like that on a daily basis, but somehow it always fell to the wayside with how busy I was; I was lucky that Tim still didn’t mind my presence despite how inconsistently I was able to be with him, and I was lucky that he still was just as patient with me as he was at the beginning.

Once I was recovered from the hot packing, I grabbed the brushes and brushed him throughly before sitting down again to take another break. By then Tim had finished his hay, and it was with great regret that I had to tell him I was already finished brushing him despite his nudging the brush in my hands. He tried to follow me right out the stall when I left to go brush the others in the barn. But for better or worse, it was time for me to get back to the real world, and I put away the brush, gave Tim and the others a treat each, and slowly made the trek up the hill to the house.

The fatigue that had been plaguing me for days had lifted by the time I finished taking off my boots. I was able to finish my phone calls, and I took my time going through them, resting in between each one. I did not finish my housework, but rather than that bothering me relentlessly, it was a relief to rest for the remainder of the day, at least until I had to head down to the barn again to hot pack Tim’s side that evening .

I’ve known, logically, for a year now that slowing down and taking my time is the only surefire way for me to accomplish my tasks, and yet I consistently forget it time and time again. It would seem I need to be reminded on a regular basis, reminded that life is more than rushing from task to task until I burn out on a monthly basis. I’m incredibly grateful for Tim’s calm presence in my life, and for his easy going nature serving as that reminder of what I need to function at my best.

May you find peace in your day.

[endlesstwanted]

Hot Bucky Summer, endlesstwanted’s Masterpost

I’m back home from my holidays! I tried to have this posted before leaving, but it was impossible for me, so let’s ignore this coming weeks later.

Now onto the important stuff, I’m very excited to share my masterlist for @buckybarnesevents’ Hot Bucky Summer event! I joined five weeks and wrote four fics, plus the starting chapter of another one —all for different pairing, with a total amount of a bit more than 19k words, I surprised myself with these numbers lol. Enjoy! 💗

Week 2 → “What should I call you?”

Slide In, Came With Perfect Timing

Bucky Barnes/Joaquín Torres/Sam Wilson | Explicit | 4,1k words

Summary: Sam and Bucky find their baby asleep when they arrive home from a mission, so they decide to try something new and swap places for the night. When they wake up, Joaquín catches up on the surprise of the change as his Daddy and his Papi remind him how good it felt to be fucked in his sleep.

Week 3 → “Where do you want me?”

Surprise Afternoon Shopping

Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark | Explicit | 6,2k words

Summary: With Bucky’s promotion’s party this weekend, Tony’s taken on a surprise afternoon shopping session in search of clothes for the occasion. They just may or may not have spent all of it at Bucky’s regular sex shop.

Week 9 → Optional Prompts: “S” (Secret)

Would That Be A Problem?

Bucky Barnes/Howard Stark | Explicit | 680 words

Summary: Bucky and Howard skip the night out with their friends to take care of some intimate issues, until something comes up.

Week 12 → “Who’s my ____?”

I Can Take You To Heaven And Back

Bucky Barnes/Joaquín Torres | Explicit | 6,7k words

Summary: Joaquín is excited to meet Daddy tonight, but when he sees Bucky’s reaction to discovering one of his sex toys, the evening takes an unexpected but exciting turn.

Week 13  → Optional Prompts: “B” (Bondage)

To Be Bitten Under The Mistletoe, Chapter 1: Don’t Think About It Twice

Bucky Barnes/John Walker/Sam Wilson | Mature | 1,4k words

Summary: After noticing that Bucky only cared for their pleasure while at sex and talking it thoroughly, Bucky and his partners try out one of his discovered kinks to make him feel as loved as he is. Chapter summary: It took a bit for Bucky to communicate with Sam and John, but together they work on learning how to make Bucky’s wish come true.

[apexart-journal]

Garth Gratrix, apexart, NYC fellowship.

Day 10 – Bingo, Performative Justice, and the Art of Showing Up.

7:30am to 9:30pm, and somehow still buzzing. Not sure how—but I’ll take it.

Started at Manhattan Courthouse to sit in on hearings and sentencings. The public are called the “audience,” which feels bleakly theatrical—lives pivoting while we watch from the sidelines. With Trump buildings wrapped in fencing and police, justice feels more like performance art than a public service. Especially the day after the UK doubled down on its copy-paste of US trans policy. Justice? Hard to spot sometimes.

No Judge Judy sightings, sadly. A formal complaint and request for merch will follow.

From there, I had a check-in at apexart with Steven Rand. A great exchange—talking through Week 1 reflections and how I’m navigating energy, critique, and embodiment. I’ve noticed how much more freely I’m speaking my mind here—not to resist, but to process out loud. That’s rare. And welcome. My time off or rest days being as necessary for unlocking self and making discoveries within the fellowship as the plethora of gifts that the itinerary is also nourishing me with.

I’m clocking how tired my body is. It might be my first real reflections on my 40 milestone and perhaps ignorance to to my needs in recent years. This might be the decade of desiring myself a bit more, getting healthier and maintaing the same youthfulness that my cute face. No good having a face of a cherub and a body like Smeagol. Not so "precious".

The fellowship is fuelling me, but I came into it mid-transition—grief, burnout, joints aching like a busted marionette. The catch-ups help ground that, turning internal noise into shared learning. Listening is powerful medicine.

Next stop: volunteering at The New Jewish Home, escorting residents to their Bingo game. I was wedged between David, Carol, and Magda—juggling their three cards for high-stakes $1 prizes. David said yes to everything, Carol was the silent Bingo assassin and Magda, the contradicting chatterbox saying "get me outta this hell hole, I'm leaving. Oh wait I've got 69". I too get distracted Magda but "eyes down lookey lookey", as we say back home to commence our Bingo. It seems I am a lucky charm, as all three won. We rode back to Floor 4 like champions. I had a really nice chat with another volunteer from Portugal studying architecture in NYC.

It was all beautifully familiar. My mum—who was a nurse for 50+ years—took Bingo very seriously. We used to play together, her running five cards at once. I used to chat to her patients at times I'd go to pick her up from work.

Standing earlier under a flickering Subway light, I’d had a flash of “Mum?”—a small spectral moment. Today, it felt like she turned up for Bingo too. The last thing she said to me was "never give up on your living ambitions".

I’m reminded Artists aren’t always caregivers in the traditional sense—but maybe we’re adjacent. We offer new breaths. Shared time. Quiet provocations. It reminded me that presence is its own kind of artwork. We walk parallel with the speed of the world and ask it to look anew.

Rather than taking the Subway, I walked through Central Park past those absurdly thin billionaire skyscrapers—$130M for a balcony you’ll use three times a year. Literal higher-archy. Power on stilts. Frost bite will get them. I thought their homes would make much better care homes for David, Carol and Magda.

I’d hoped to catch a free Lincoln Center concert but missed out. Even after queuing for 40 minutes. Patience is something I feel I carry with me daily, as is the ability to establish solutions. So I parked myself on a patch of grass and watched the sun wind down. People all around me trying to capture their perfect bridge or sunset photo, angling for icon status.

But maybe the most radical act is to not document. Just sit. Watch. Breathe. Actually be in the thing. Channeling my previous bird watching experience.

That being said, here's a picture I took haha. We are all hypocrites but assume positive intent where possible.

And so ends Day 10. Courtrooms, old souls, failed concerts, and a bingo card full of memory.

Still no tattoo. No drama. But a kind of quiet clarity.

[caramelcroissant]

How I Accidentally Moving On

Moving on is a funny thing. It doesn’t knock politely on your door and announce, “Hey, just wanted to let you know that you’re over it now.” Nope. It sneaks in like a thief in the night, rearranging everything inside you without making a sound. One day, you’re sitting on the floor crying your eyes out, wondering why life decided to play dodgeball with your heart, and then… poof. Just like that, the tears dry up, and the weight you’ve been dragging around quietly disappears.

I don’t even know when it happened. There wasn’t a dramatic epiphany or an empowering anthem playing in the background. It wasn’t like I woke up one morning, stretched my arms, and said, “Today, I’m free!” It was subtle, almost sneaky. One minute I was avoiding certain streets because they reminded me of him, skipping songs that made my chest ache, and obsessively replaying what went wrong. The next minute, I realized I hadn’t thought about him all day. Or the day before that. Or the week before. And when I did think of him, it wasn’t like someone poked me with a hot branding iron. It was just… a memory.

I still remember him, of course. How could I not? There are little things that pop up—like that one inside joke we had about coffee, or that trip we took where we laughed so much I forgot my face could hurt from smiling. But instead of feeling like a thousand tiny paper cuts, those memories have softened. They’re like old Polaroids tucked away in a drawer, something I can glance at without spiraling into existential dread.

I started noticing the small freedoms first. I could walk past the cafe we used to go to without detouring five blocks out of my way. I could listen to that one song that used to absolutely wreck me and realize I was just singing along instead of crying into my steering wheel. The streets and songs turned back into what they’d always been: just streets and songs.

And then, out of nowhere, life started moving again. I didn’t just survive; I started thriving. I signed up for a marathon. Yes, me, the person who once declared jogging to the fridge as “exercise.” I went back to school and chased my master’s degree, something I’d always dreamed of but kept putting off. I even won a competition, which felt like the universe giving me a little high-five. For the first time in a long time, I felt full—full of energy, full of hope, full of life.

A big part of that fullness came from my people. My family and friends were there through it all, cheering me on like I was running the emotional Olympics. They reminded me that I wasn’t defined by what happened, that I was so much more than my heartbreak. And slowly but surely, I started to believe them.

But the biggest shift? That came when I made peace with my heartbreak. I stopped wrestling with the past, stopped trying to rewrite the ending in my head. I forgave myself—for not being enough, for being flawed, for settling when I knew I deserved more, and for clinging to a love that wasn’t right for me. I let it all go, one piece at a time.

And maybe that’s why I was finally able to move on. When you forgive yourself, when you accept what happened and stop fighting it, something inside you softens. It’s like the storm inside you clears, and you can finally see the rainbow everyone keeps talking about.

I haven’t met someone new yet, but that’s okay. Because I’ve found something even better: myself. And honestly? That’s a love worth celebrating. The me who runs marathons, chases dreams, and laughs without fear of breaking. The me who forgave, healed, and learned to let go.

They say there’s always a rainbow after every storm, and now I know it’s true. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting or pretending it never hurt. It means making peace with the pain, learning from it, and stepping forward into the light. I’ve found my rainbow. I’ve found me. And that’s something to be proud of.

[edgarallenp0etry]

I have a hard time undoing the notion in my brain that there are people who either don’t feel things, or feel them and then just stop. I convince myself that both are done with an eloquence I can only dream of experiencing once again. Frankly though, I’ve gotten to a point where feeling things and hurting is a much better fate than avoiding the pain and spending years watching it bite at your ankles. Or your soul.

Kafka lives on your bookshelf, along with several other books that make me want to crawl back into bed with you and peel apart the folds of your brain and lick each one. But I promise the way in which I want to consume your heart and mind is gentle– I’m trying to learn to love in a way that is pure and without ego, without attachment. As I remind myself of this desire, the ache to love right, I feel a visceral nag in the back of my head (they say this is where primal intuition lives) reminding me the that the way I feel about you is how I often feel when I’m about to try and eat someone alive. It is hard to love someone in the right way when you feel hunger pangs when you think about the fact that they speak five languages and you have a history of falling in love with people you must convince yourself are smart. 

The way you speak about love is easy for me to read, but so is everyone I find fascinating enough to study. You are highly sensitive but you have only accepted some of the things that come along with that, like thinking music is the most beautiful thing on earth and loving analog photography. The less glamorous stuff is buried in your chest and makes you think you’re having a heart attack every once in a while. The first time we talked I asked you if you have the tendency to suppress your feelings, and a week later you landed in the emergency room feeling as though an elephant had been sitting on your chest.

You have an individuality complex -although you would deny it because you fancy yourself a collectivist- which manifests itself in the enjoyment of underground jazz, obscure films, and probably feeling a little lonely. But I’m only guessing about the last part.

You have a disorganized attachment style that leans toward avoidant (trust me when I say I was shocked at the way you melted when you kissed me. I couldn’t tell if your lack of disgust for your affection toward me was because you were less avoidant than I initially thought, or if it was because you were so much so that you knew you could treat me like your wife without risking getting attached. Honestly, I’m still not sure).

By the second night I slept with you, I wanted to count every blackhead on your nose. The night before, the mere thought of that would have left me repulsed. That kind of closeness felt wet; heavy. But today I would count each one as if they were freckles. Your gentleness was rubbing off on me, I guess. In the morning we were holding each other, faces only inches apart. After a while, you smiled shyly and asked me if I had wrinkles. I said something like, “I’d hoped I’d get a few more years without them, but maybe I have frown lines from being an unhappy child,” before realizing you meant freckles. Your multilingualism was even more beautiful than I could have initially imagined. You told me you would try and kiss every one of them, before planting kisses all over my nose. It horrified me, but in the way that left me wanting to close my eyes and melt into you, not run away.

I got home and wrote in my diary,

“I know there are things I’d grow to hate about you but right now I just want to bask in what I don’t yet know.”

When I start writing those kinds of words, I know it is only a matter of days before I am ready to bury myself inside the person’s skin and it will be at least a year until I’m ready to cut myself out. Historically, I’ve been able to wake myself out of the dream and leave a patchy suture job behind, all while managing to remain relatively bloodless myself. But that was when I was 16, 17, 18 and I don’t want to do that anymore. I think I want to know you for a long time. 

I’m sure you feel things, but not the way I do. Never the way I do. 

[blackwinged-soul]

...I may not be as “okay” as I thought.

I miss her. That’s all. I still miss her. I always do; I was just reminded how MUCH last night.

I watched my (BD) mournful media debut with my roommate and we talked a little bit, shared stories, shared thoughts, they shared comics and silly things. I think they were trying to cheer me up.

It somewhat worked.

But when I went to bed, I lay down... sprawled out on my back and staring at my ceiling, not seeing it, but Feeling Immensely.

I don’t know when I started crying, but I shed a tear or two.

It caught me off-guard. I’m supposed to be OKAY now, aren’t I? I’m supposed to have healed by now, aren’t I? I’m supposed to be more than that grief now, right? I was. I was okay; I was healed; I was more. But it came back.

I was awake longer than I meant to be. I fell asleep, eventually... I thought to myself this morning. when I woke up still saddened, “It’s okay for it to hurt still.” But it’s still somewhat disappointing. Unsettling. It HURTS.

And maybe I neared crying at some point today. But I was able to be distracted. It wasn’t the all-consuming, crushing, obsessive, self-flagellating GRIEF that it was five or six years ago. It was... manageable. But it was still THERE.

I miss her.

And I mourn everything I ever felt that I didn’t tell her, every laugh we ever shared, every moment of growth and love she didn’t get to see. I mourn how much better we could have loved her now, but will never be able to because she’s gone.

I respect her choices and I’m proud of her, but gods, I miss her.

I found a new song that reminds me of her, in that it could’ve been her singing to us. (Never Enough by Tarj/a. “I don’t belong. There's no going back,what we used to be...” “Never enough, no, never enough. I gave it all, you still want more...” And of course, “My endless laughter...”)

I thought about her to a Starse|t song, too, a week or two ago. Ricochet. I started thinking about it from my perspective, of course, but after a couple verses, I realized it was really more form HER perspective.

“You’d hang on every word I say, but now they only ricochet.” “But when I send my heart your way, it bounces off the wall you’ve made.” “I was trying just to get you, and now I’m dying to forget you.” “All these broken souls, each one more beautiful, they don’t, they don’t know my heart... I’ll send out my soul to worlds more beautiful. They won’t, they won’t know my heart...”

I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about her all day, and doing my best not to get lost in it. At least I can say I’m not lost in the pain.

It’s just Difficult to reconcile Who I Am Now with Who I Was When The Time With Her Mattered Most.

I told myself, all those millennia, I HAD to mourn her, I had to feel bad, she deserved to be mourned and I deserved to hurt, I earned it, I wasn’t able to protect her and so why should I ever feel happy again? But now I’m telling myself, I don’t have to anymore, and it feels like that’s cheating. 

I think part of the reason it’s hitting so hard is because I’ve been getting more in touch with my emotions over the past 5+ years, and though I had CLOSURE before... I don’t know that I ever properly processed the grief. Just carried on with it, and eventually distracted myself enough to forget about it.

I do feel better about it than I did at that time. I do feel like I can carry on much more easily than I did before, even with the weight of it.

But before, my human body didn’t know how to cry.

Maybe it’s about time I shed a tear in this life.

And maybe it’s about time I learn how to laugh again, not despite it, but WITHIN it.

Where do I begin...?

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (500): Sun 30th Jul 2023

My plan was going to be to get through today then use my emergency holiday to go home half a day early tomorrow. However clever bollocks over here neglected that there are thirty one cunting days in July and we don’t get our five hours until the first day of the month. I was pissed off that I’d been foiled once again by something that I should have learned in primary school but evidentially I didn’t namely how many days there are in each fucking month. Luckily I calmed myself down and probably prevented a riot in the process by reminding myself that after tomorrow I only have one more weeks work to go before I fuck off to the Edinburgh Fringe. It will probably be pissing it down when I go there but I’m going to take my big leather trench coat and giant umbrella with me and try not to let the shitty weather bring me down. When I got home I booked tickets for the last few shows I want to see while I’m there. There’s a show called Bang! about William Burroughs accidentally shooting his wife and a Beckett-esque play about too men who meet atop a hill in a windy/rainy day, one of whom is dragging a coffin behind him. But the one that really got my attention is a show called Chokeslam which is about an overworked woman who takes comfort in watching wrestling. I mean how the fuck could I not buy tickets to this one?

[ahmumbles]

Summer Rains

Today is July 14, 2023.

I feel compelled to start this diary entry, partly because I am at a bakery and need to look busy and partly because I have some loose ends in my brain that I’d like to resolve.

It’s halfway through the summer, and June felt like the longest month. Since Tom and Liam have left, I’ve been keeping myself busy with work and watching movies at home with the blinds closed shut. Have I been making the most of my last few months in Hanoi? No. Do I feel an intense need to have done so? Nope. I’ve been trying to be easy on myself and allowing myself to do nothing, feel nothing, and get through day by day, task by task, hour by hour, sunrise to sunset.

Now that I have about a month left of my time here though, I feel that I should start to wrap up my open thoughts and make sense of my time here. 

1) First things first, I’ll talk about Tom. You know, if you really think about it, I spent two and a half years with him. On and off, in-person and long distance, but either way, I’ve pretty much been committed in my heart to this man. He became my comfort space and my best friend. I scrolled through our old DM’s last night and I forgot how silly we were with each other. All the absolutely insanely stupid memes sent and little jokes. Looking back at these exchanges, I was reminded at how comfortable I was with him and the intimate connection we shared. How silly I could be in front of him and how he took everything, with no judgment. So... it’s kind of crazy to think that just a few months ago I was cuddling and drunkenly walking the streets of Hanoi with him. Then how one day, we just stopped talking altogether. How he has been living a new chapter of his life in Toronto, and I have no idea what he’s doing nor how he’s doing. He doesn’t know what I’m doing day to day, how I look like without my nose ring, the new foods I’ve been trying, the music I’ve been listening to. We don’t know anything about each other since that point. And there’s a big possibility that we may never know anything new about one another ever again. We may never cross paths again. I know it’s still fresh, but that possibility seems insane to me. How could I ever find someone new that I feel so connected with? We leave parties at the same time. We melt into one body when we lay together. We have similar taste buds. We share the same ear for music. We have tuned our bodies and interests to align with one another over the past few years, and now I feel like I’m always one-sided in all that I do. Every new guy I meet, I am reminded once again the difficulty of finding someone who shares so many things with you. All in all to say, I’ve been ignoring the feeling for a while, but man... I fucking miss him. I miss his voice, I miss his body and cuddles, his stupid laugh, the way he rolls a joint, his big hands holding mine, his beautiful green eyes, the way he smokes a cigarette, the way he always looks serious but then his whole face becomes a baby once he laughs, the way that we can just lean on each other and spend hours and days and probably months with one another. I wonder if we’ll see each other again. I hope so. I really, really hope so. Until then, I need to suppress all urges to reach out and wait a bit until my feelings settle to recognize if I truly miss him as a person in my life or I miss the companionship he provided.

2) I am getting more and more nervous about moving to Japan. Specifically, I think I’m most nervous about my work schedule. I genuinely don’t know if my body, nonetheless my mind, can handle a five day / nine hours per day work week... for a whole year. I’m counting on the fact that I’ll be inspired by my surroundings, everything will be fresh and new, so I will indulge in these aspects to fulfill my soul while simultaneously learning to enjoy my students and teaching with a dedication that I have never experienced thus far. I think that the best way to go about it is to find a hobby and commit to it weekly on my days off, give myself some pep talks in the mornings to remember that teaching is a duty and a privilege, and instead of lazying around at home until work at noon, trying to do something before that is just for me- whether it be going to a cafe, or window shopping, or taking a class. I really hope I make some local friends. I’ve yet to make real local friends in Barcelona (except Leo) and Hanoi, so it would be really, really nice to make some Japanese friends. I’m trying to go into it without expectations nor too much excitement, which is a lot harder than I expected because those are natural emotions that arise from such a big life move, but I guess just not thinking about it too much helps with that.

3) How has my year in Vietnam been? Hmm... it’s really been an up and down. After the initial fascination phase, it was a bit lonely... but then I became good friends with the German boys and shared some fun moments with them and others. I got to travel around here and there. Then Tom and Liam came. Then a sad, hot summer. When I summarize it in this sense, it seems that time just flew by. A few months here and a few months there. But I remember many nights of feeling so, so alone... Nothing to do, no one to see, nowhere to go. Alone. Dark. A film or my phone. In a general sense, taking out the people that have come and gone, me by myself, it’s been a lonely year. I don’t regret anything, of course, as it’s been a year still filled with adventures and memories, but it has been lonely. A weird adult loneliness that I haven’t felt much of before. I am proud of myself for trying it out, and I’m even more proud of myself for being able to say that this place is not for me and not feeling horrible about it. I’ve learned how to ride a motorbike, and that was such an intense fear, so I am very, very glad about that. I got to see beautiful nature and learn about Vietnamese culture and people. I got to share this place and my space with ones that I love. I got to meet many different people at different walks of life and hear their unique stories and learn things along the way. The biggest takeaway I got from being here is that I’ve learned more about things that I like and people I like and dislike. In that sense, I’ve learned more about myself than I probably recognize. I feel like in a few months time, I will probably be able to better assess exactly how my time here has shaped me. 

I have to go. I’ll come back soon.