#and uh. my boyfriend triggered me really really really really bad on Monday

[midnight-mod]

Ugh I can tell I’m in distress when I drink myself silly to make the panic go away but then start texting people out of a desperate attempt to get someone to pay attention to me pay attention to me pay attention to me pay attention to me

Anyway I’m drunk, in distress, and pretty sure this will subside by Monday and I can return to basically never drinking. Just gotta get there. And I am so fucking powerful you guys! I’m gonna get there. If only to give my PTSD(?) the middle finger. The power of spite compels me!

[stressy-enby]

Some Scars aren’t Physical: PART 1

Iida x GN! Reader

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Past abusive relationship (gaslighting, possessiveness, yelling), slight panic attack, swearing

Summery: (Y/N) had a terrible boyfriend in middle school. He was possessive, manipulative, and just plain awful. Since breaking up with Him, (Y/N)’s had pretty bad relationship anxiety. It’s so bad, that it makes them afraid to pursue their new crush: the kind, earnest class rep, Tenya Iida.

Link to Part 2 

Masterlist

. . .

It only takes one bad experience to ruin something forever.

Take dating, for instance.

You hadn’t had many friends in middle school. You had Izuku, your friend since elementary school, and the people who sat next to you in class who occasionally talked to you. That was about it, but it never mattered. You were still happy.

Then there was Him.

He had been kind. Flattering. He laughed at your jokes and told you His own. You had been happier than you had ever been when you started dating. You spent long nights on the phone with Him, trying to smother your giddy laughter so not to wake the rest of your house. Then you spent hours recounting every moment of the conversation to Izuku, who always rolled his eyes playfully, remarking “As long as you’re happy, (Y/N).”

Then He changed.

It was a gradual shift. You didn’t even realize that something wasn’t right until a month or so into the relationship. It started with Izuku, funnily enough. He didn’t like how close you were with him. You had tried to calmly explain to Him that you were just friends, and had been friends for several years. He wouldn’t have it, though. He never outright asked you to stop spending time with Izuku, but He made it very clear that He didn’t approve of your friendship. 

You didn’t want Him to be angry with you. You didn’t cut Izuku out completely, you couldn’t bear to. You did start to avoid him, though.

It didn’t end with Izuku, though. Next it was the classmates you occasionally hung out with. Next it was anyone He didn’t personally know. Next it was anyone if He wasn’t there.

Then there were the arguments. You were frustrated. You told Him that he couldn’t control you like this. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave Him. Not when His counterarguments where oh so persuasive.

“Listen, these people don’t really care about you. They’re just going to hurt you. I just want to keep you safe. You trust me, right?”

The hurt look on His face was enough for you to assure Him that yes, of course you trusted Him. You weren’t sure how honest you were being, though.

Four months.

It took four months of loneliness, and anxiety for you to finally end it. It took four months of Izuku pleading with you to leave Him before you actually did it. 

He wouldn’t go down without a fight, unfortunately. He went down in the end, albeit kicking and screaming. He had raised his voice at our before, but never like this. He had never screamed directly in your face. You’d never cried in front of Him before. You’d been good at hiding it, but the all the pent up anxiety and frustrations you were feeling spilt out when He shrieked at you like that.

He’d been suspended for two weeks. They were over all too fast.

He hardly talked to you when He got back, but you always felt His eyes. They seemed to follow you wherever you went.

Izuku stuck to you like glue. He was a nervous kid, and he never said anything directly to Him, but he was always there, offering you his silent support.

“Do you think you’ll want to date anyone else?” Izuku asked one day.

“No one from our class,” You rolled your eyes, surveying the middle school classroom.

“What about when we get to high school?” 

“I don’t know,” You answered after a moment. “I’d like to be in a good relationship, but…”

Izuku frowned. “But?”

You averted your eyes, feeling His gaze burning a hole in the back of your head. “I thought He seemed good at first. Look how well that went.”

. . . 

High school felt like heaven. It might’ve been grueling, and sure, villains showed up every other week, but He wasn’t there. Izuku was, though, plus you both managed to make a few other friends. 

Iida was one such friend. The first thing you had noticed about him was that he was loud. You had never liked loud people, especially after what had happened with Him, but Iida was never loud to you directly. He was just loud in general.

A few weeks into your friendship with him, and you realized that he was incredibly earnest. He was dependable, and seemed to be one of the kindest, if also intense people you’d ever met.

He was also handsome.

You spent lunch periods staring at Iida’s large hands, wondering what they’d feel like in your own. You laid awake at night, hugging your pillow and pretending it was him. 

One night, as you pictured him holding you, his gentle arms suddenly became tight and constrictive. Suddenly, it wasn’t Iida.

It was Him.

Your breathing became sporadic you threw your pillow onto the floor. You folded in on yourself, rubbing your arms to try to rid yourself of His lingering touch.

“I can’t,” You whimpered. “I can’t,”

You wanted to be with Iida, you really did. But He was still poisoning your mind.

. . .

“(L/N), are you doing anything this weekend?” 

You hummed noncommittally at Iida, who was standing at your desk, waiting for you to pack up to go home.

“I don’t think so.” You shrugged. “What about you?”

“Well, a cafe recently opened near my home, I’m thinking of checking it out.” He said casually, eyes darting away. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me?”

“Oh!” You exclaimed, looking up at the boy. “Uh, yeah! That sounds fun. It’d be nice to spend some time with you outside of school.”

“Yes, I-I thought the same thing.” Iida readjusted his glasses, a pink dusting forming on his cheeks. “Is Saturday alright with you?”

About twenty minutes later, when you and Izuku were walking home from the train station, he asked if you wanted to do anything over the weekend.

“On Sunday, maybe.” You kicked an acorn along the sidewalk. “Iida and I are going out on Saturday.”

“Woah, really? Like on a date?”

“I- I don’t- what?” You froze. You replayed the conversation with Iida in your head. “Is it a date? Shit. I can’t go on a date.”

“Why not?” Izuku furrowed his brows in concern. “Iida’s really nice, I think you’d be happy with him. You’d have a good time.”

“Yeah, well we thought I’d be happy with Him too,”

Izuku flinched, understanding flashing in his eyes. “Okay. (Y/N), Iida is lightyears better than Him. Iida’s a super serious guy, but that makes him transparent. If he had ulterior motives, or even if he just seemed like he’d be a dick, you’d know it. Iida isn’t Him. At least go out with him this one time.”

“But I-”

“It’s one date, not marriage.” Izuku reasoned, placing a hand on your shoulder. “There are no obligations. Go out with him. If it goes well, then great! You can do it again, or, don’t. If it goes poorly, then end it there. You don’t have to tie yourself to Iida just because he’s showing interest in you.”

You raised a pointed eyebrow. “What if I’m not interested in him?”

“(Y/N).” Izuku deadpanned. “You and I both know that you are.”

You snickered a little, the sound coming out breathy and broken. “Ok. One date. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

. . .

Izuku knew you and Iida had it bad for each other. The staring longingly when the other wasn’t looking, the flustered laughing, all the goddamn blushing, there was a lot. It was torture watching you both dance around each other, but he knew it wasn’t easy for you. He had left his mark on you, even if it wasn’t a physical one. 

Izuku wasn’t exactly thrilled to push you right back into dating when you obviously were uncomfortable, despite knowing that Iida could be a healing presence in your life if you let him. 

So you were going on a date with him. 

“It’s one date, not marriage.” He had said, trying to convince himself as well as you. “There are no obligations.”

Izuku knew Iida. He trusted him with his life, he just wasn’t sure if he trusted him with you. You, the closest thing to a sibling Izuku had ever had. You, who had stayed his friend even after you had manifested your quirk and he’d been left quirkless. You, who stayed by his side and defended him against Kacchan and his other middle school bullies. 

You, who had been hurt before by someone you had liked.

Izuku groaned, flopping onto his bed. “Iida isn’t Him. Iida isn’t Him. He’s not going to hurt (Y/N). They’re going to be fine.”

It still didn’t stop him from constantly checking his phone, to see if you’d messaged him. Today was your date. He check the time again. 3:21. You should be home by now, or at least on the way. He’d told you to text him when you were home and tell him all about the date, but you might’ve forgotten. Maybe he should text your parents?

No. He was your best friend, not your father. He’d wait to see if you contacted him. If you didn’t, no big deal. He’d see you on Monday at school. Izuku very deliberately placed his phone face down on his bedside table. Deciding to go for a jog to get his mind off it, he began to change into his workout clothes.

Not two minutes later, his phone buzzed. Halfway into his gym shorts, Izuku scrambled back to the table, tripping over his own feet and hitting his head squarely on the bed frame. 

“Shit!” He hissed, rubbing his forehead.

“Izuku?” His mother called. “Is everything all right in there?”

“Yeah, I just tripped. I’m okay.” He replied, feeling around for his phone with the hand not cradling his head. Much to Izuku’s disappointment, the text wasn’t from you.

Much to his surprise though, it was from Iida.

Iida: Is (L/N) afraid of me?

“Uh oh,” He murmured, fingers already flying across the keypad.

Izuku: wdym? Did something happen during your date?

Iida: Kind of? It went well, but (L/N) seemed really nervous.

Izuku: And you weren’t? Lol, it’s your first date

Iida: Well, yes of course I was nervous. (L/N) seems more nervous then would be ordinary in that situation, though.

Izuku: What exactly did they do?

Iida: They were very overly jittery. They looked apprehensive and guilty whenever we talked. At one point I put my hand on their arm and they flinched. 

“Oh shit,” Izuku whispered. Iida wasn’t done, though.

Iida: The night ended well enough, I suppose. They seemed to have a good time, it just looked like they were too frightened to enjoy it to the full extent, though.

Izuku: You didn’t do anything weird, did you?

Iida: Weird how? All I did was talk to them. I offered to pay for their food, but they declined. I touched their arm, but once they flinched away I didn’t try again. We walked back to the train station together, and I offered to accompany them home, but they shot me down again.

Izuku sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples. It was a delicate situation. It wasn’t really Izuku’s place to tell Iida your business. So how was he going to tell Iida that you had relationship trauma without actually telling him?

Izuku: Ok, I don’t think you did anything wrong. (Y/N) gets nervous at the idea of dating, but I promise it’s not you. They’ve had bad experiences with dating, but they seem to really like you and want to try again.

Izuku: (Y/N)’s story isn’t mine to tell. If they feel comfortable giving you all the details, then they will. All you need to know for now is that their anxiety isn’t your fault. It also doesn’t mean that they don’t like you because I don’t think I’ve ever seen them as happy with someone as they are with you  

Iida: I see. Their behavior makes a little more sense now. Thank you for telling me, Midoriya. I’d like to have a relationship with them, so on Monday I’ll talk to them and see if there’s anything I can do or stop doing to make them more comfortable. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am when I’m with them either, in all honesty. I would hate to loose them over a misunderstanding.

Izuku chuckled, smiling warmly at his device. “What was I ever worried about?”

[unmanageable-day]

10. Between a friend and another friend

When you are friends for so long, and it has never come across your mind to date one of them. Until one particular guy friend of yours came to offer you a relationship, a new chapter of life like no other before.

prev | next

You let Doyoung hold your hand on the way walking you home after the unsuccessful meeting with Taeyong. Unusually, he didn't speak much. The Kim Doyoung you knew was a person who hated being in silence. He would try to come up with anything that can be talked about. Even when he was upset or feel ecstatic, he would express it through words.

You were already assuming things when Doyoung appeared in the middle of the crying scene between you and Taeyong. It can't be he followed you and started to act like a protective boyfriend, right? You literally shared your thoughts about that just a few days ago. He wouldn't cross that line, right?

You started to slow down and eventually stopped walking, making Doyoung who was in front of you leading the way pause his steps as well. He turned around to look at you and your puffy eyes. "Why were you there?" you confronted.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Jooyeon. I was there because I thought I needed to talk to him too. Not because I followed you," he explained, knowing where your question would go. "I was going to show up nicely and say hi joyfully. But then I heard him and I just..." He hung his words. His eyes were quivering since he wasn't sure if he should say that he got triggered by Taeyong's words. But then it may trigger you and would lead to an unwanted hard conversation since it would make him the least wanted person in your life: a possessive boyfriend. "It just surprised me that how stubborn he was. I'm sorry," he finished.

You sighed. "No, it's okay. I didn't know that he was going to talk about it again."

"I'll try to talk to him again with the other guys. Johnny and Jaehyun as mediators might do it."

Your expression softened. Doyoung pulled you gently to his embrace. He rubbed your back, hoping it could comfort you.

"I appreciate that you've been so determined at everything, Doyoung," you mumbled, looping your arms around his waist.

— the very next day

Doyoung as usual picked you up from work. He had been doing this for two weeks. At first, of course you found it weird that he started to act like those typical boyfriends. Eventually you just got used to it and didn't mind it at all. Doyoung was your friend after all and he kept his word to maintain your friendship and not being that kind of couple. At least not drastically. This effort of his resulted in your parents, particularly your father being very pleased that finally his princess had her guards. No more sleepless nights waiting for you to get home when you had to work overtime.

"Let's grab dinner before heading home," Doyoung said as he turned on the car engine. He knew you would reject him directly since it was only Monday and there was never a 'thank God it's Monday'. That was why he explained himself quickly. "No worries about Mom and Dad. I have told them you're going to be late because we're going on a dinner date. And Dad said okay."

You shrugged as you had no choice. On the other side, you were actually amazed at how fluent he was calling your parents as mom and dad as if they were his own parents. "Okay then. What do you want to eat?"

"There is this noodle shop near my place," told him as he drove off.

"Your place?"

"Actually I want to show you the place I'm moving to. It's fully furnished. All we have to bring is our body and clothes."

"We?" You raised an eyebrow. Well, the last conversation about moving in didn't finish neatly. As usual, you didn't take him seriously when he asked you to move with him.

"Only if you agree to move in with me," he gently spoke, noticing your serious tone and a slight reject intention. So, again, he explained even before you could speak. "You know our parents would wonder where we're going to stay after marriage. So I have this apartment ready."

You mouthed an 'oh' as response, but not continued to say anything.

"Just in case. But staying in either your or my Mom and Dad's house is fine too," he added.

Sometimes you almost forgot that you and him were getting married. It had been felt like you just spent your time with a dear friend in the past several weeks. Except the day before when it hit you hard with the rough talk with Taeyong.

You didn't answer Doyoung anymore until he arrived in his apartment complex. He lead you to his unit while telling you how he got this apartment, how he designed the interior, and how his buddies also had their units in different floors and towers. That means you were going to be neighbors with them if you move in. Taeyong probably had his unit too, yet Doyoung didn't even mention his name. You started to think it would be a bad idea to live in the same neighborhood when Taeyong could encounter you and Doyoung together anytime anywhere.

You looked around his room which was a perfect replica of his room in his parent's house. A wide variation of plants in small pots were all over the place and corners. Some matching paintings, mostly white and green with either abstract pattern or plants drawing, were attached on the walls. "It's nice and cozy," you commented with a smile. He smiled back.

"Just let me know if you change your mind. If... you know, moving and living together prior to the D-day. You know, getting to know your roommate," he nervously said. "I, uh.. actually have spared some space in the closet and in the shoes drawer."

The images of you and him living together in this new place suddenly flashed in your mind. You did wonder whether it would be awkward, or it would be nice to move to a new environment. Will Doyoung really act like only a roommate to share this room with? Or will you have that newly weds life and be real lovebirds with him?

"You'll be the first to know if I change my mind," you concluded.

"Okay, I guess I shall wait for that day. Now let's get some food and then I'll drive you home."

[fanders-fic-awards]

One Short Day (Summer Fic Comp 18)

Summary: Patton has a really bad day, so Virgil tries to help.

Trigger Warnings: The Q and F slurs. To skip them, skip the from ’“Okay,” Connor said’ to ‘Oh. Oh.’

Word Count: 2059

Ballot

Patton was having a very, very bad day. First, his coffee maker broke, spilling coffee everywhere and probably ruining his favorite sweater. Then his car wouldn’t start; thankfully, however, he had listened to Logan and gotten a portable jump starter kit that didn’t require a second car.

He pulled up to school, barely in time to start his first class of the day, which was senior-level Honors English. The bell rang, and 30 tired and unenthused seniors walked in the door.

“Good morning, class!” His greeting was met with mumbles, so he tried again, with even more pep he wasn’t at all feeling.

“What is up, everybody?”

“Hi, Mr. Sanders” came the ever-so-slightly more energetic response.

“Now, kiddos, I know it’s early on a Monday, but you can do better than that! I be-leaf in you!” Patton held up the plastic maple leaf he kept on his desk, eliciting 29 groans and 1 giggle.

“Ayy, you got me, Thomas!”

“Yeah, because you tell the same joke every day, Mr. Sanders.” The entire class laughed at Thomas’ quip, Patton included.

“Good point,” Patton ceded, pointing at him, “Get it? Good point? Also, valid observation.”

“You have cat to be kitten me. It’s too early for this bull-”

“Hey now, language! But you definitely deserve a Patt on the back for the excellent dad jokes today.”

“Was… was that a self-referential pun? To a crowd that usually doesn’t know the first names of their teachers, when you only just told us your first name last week?” Joan, Thomas’ friend, spoke up.

“Well, yeah! Why do you think I told you guys? Before that,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I was Patton pending!”

“I never thought I’d say this, but can we please get to actually learning things?” Talyn, Joan’s datemate, called from the back of the class.

“Right, as usual, Talyn,” Patton laughed, “so who has thoughts they’d like to share on the chapters of The Picture of Dorian Gray you all read over the weekend?” Silence fell, with the exception of a murmur from a boy named Connor.

Patton knew it wasn’t right for teachers to have favorite or least favorite students, but Connor was by far his least favorite. Connor was the kind of student who put no effort into understanding the material and then complained that he didn’t get it, that it was boring. Patton frankly couldn’t understand why he was taking an honors course, and nothing he said or did seemed to get through to the kid. And that’s what bugged Patton the most. Every no-effort paper, every barely passed test, felt like a personal failure to Patton. He was responsible for his students and their success. At the end of the day, however, he knew that learning is communication, and communication is a two-way street. He didn’t dislike Connor as a person, of course, he was simply sad and frustrated by his apathy towards his education.

“What was that, Connor?”

“N- nothing, Mr. Sanders.”

“Now, kiddo, we both know that’s not true. Your thoughts are as important and valid as anyone else’s. So, please, share them with us.” Patton’s voice was firm, making it clear he wouldn’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.

“Okay,” Connor said, a challenging smirk on his face, “I think that this book is a waste of our time and that no one cares what a dusty old queer had to say about other faggots over a hundred years ago.”

Oh. Oh. Patton’s chest got tight and he briefly saw red before he remembered where he was. He noticed at least five students flinch at the slur and realized he had been presented an opportunity to make a real difference in his students’ lives. Patton took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts before beginning.

“Thank you for your honest input, Mr. Williams. While your phrasing was incredibly offensive, and we will have a serious conversation with the principal after class about your use of those slurs, you bring up a point that warrants discussion, one that has occurred in countless English courses.

Why should we care? What did this novel add to the world, and does the author’s background add or remove weight from their work? I was going to discuss Oscar Wilde’s sexuality and the homosexual themes throughout the novel after we finished reading it, but since Connor brought it up, this seems like a perfect time.

Before I start lecturing, I want to know if any of you have things you’d like to add to the discussion. Yes, even you, Connor, provided you phrase your comments more carefully.” Patton paused, giving his students time to speak up if they wanted to. He was immensely relieved when a usually very quiet girl named Samantha rose her hand.

“Yes, Samantha, the floor is yours.”

“Oh, um, I just wanted to say that I think it was really brave of Oscar Wilde. I feel like the book is about vice and, um, how it destroys people, even if you- if you can’t tell by looking at them. The fact that it’s Basil Hallward who is explicitly gay is really important. Other authors might have added being gay to the list of 'sins’ Dorian Gray is guilty of, but Wilde makes Hallward something of a tragedy.

The portrait is basically the product of Hallward’s sexuality, a representation of it. Gray destroys it and then kills Hallward, which by could be interpreted out of context as a 'punishment’ for Hallward being gay. And while killing the gay character is a tragically common trope, that’s not what Wilde wrote. Because it’s Gray who killed him, it can be argued that acting the way he did is yet another example of the debauchery that causes not only his death but in the end makes him as ugly as he always feared he’d become.

Sorry, I know you hadn’t assigned that far, but I really liked the book and needed to know how it ended. And, uh, sorry for talking so much.”

“Samantha, please do not apologize for any of that. That was very well put and almost every point I was going to make.” Patton wanted to comment that he noticed her voice getting stronger and more sure as she talked, but he didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Oh, um, thanks, Mr. Sanders.”

“Mr. Sanders, what are the 'other points’ you wanted to make?” Joan asked, who had been giving Connor a murderous glare the entire time.

“Before I answer, is there anything anyone else would like to say?” Patton waited for anyone to speak up, but when no one did, he continued, “I want to discuss the larger picture. But we’ll have to table that for another day since the bell is about to ring. If you want to read ahead, please do, but I’m not going to assign another chapter for tomorrow- all I ask is that you come prepared for a discussion of notable LGBT+ authors and how their identity shaped their works, such as William Shakespeare, Truman Capote, Emily Dickinson, and Tennessee Williams. Wow me with what you bring in and there are extra credit points in it for you! Have a wonderful day, and I look forward to our discussion tomorrow. Connor, a word, please.”

—-

Virgil came home to complete chaos. There was a mess of tangled fairy lights on the couch, and it looked like there was an explosion of flour in the kitchen.

“God, Pat, you are lucky I love you. What’s up with all the messes?” Virgil called out, laughing fondly at his chaotic energetic boyfriend.

“Oh hi, my love! I meant to have it all cleaned up by the time you got home. Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess! How was your day?”

“It was really good. Got a really big breakthrough with the couple I told you I’ve been struggling so much with- I think they’re gonna get somewhere really healthy.”

“Oh my goodness, that’s so great! We have to celebrate- as it so happens, I made chocolate cake, and was gonna make stroganoff for dinner.”

“Pat, it’s my turn to cook, remember? You spoil me too- shit. I can’t believe I missed it. What’s wrong, sunshine?”

“Nothing, Virge. I just wanted to do something sweet for my sweetie!”

“Please let me in, love. Can I help?”

“I- I don’t know, and I didn’t want to worry you. It’s just been a really rough day.”

“Let’s make a deal. Let’s make lasagna together while you tell me what’s up, and then I’ll draw you a bubble bath and we’ll watch 8 Mile?”

“Not 8 Mile, not tonight. Make it the 2005 Pride and Prejudice, and I’m in.”

“As you wish, Patton-cake.”

“I love you too, dork.”

The two men got busy making lasagna, singing and sort-of dancing as they cooked. When they put the dish in the oven, Patton started talking.

“V, it was a hell of a day. The coffee pot broke, and I spilled coffee all over my sweater, and I really need to call your brother and thank him for the advice about the jumper kit. Without it, I wouldn’t have gotten to work on time. But that was little stuff, and you know me, I brushed it off and was really excited to talk with my kiddos about The Picture of Dorian Gray. And class started really well, you’d have died at how they kept the pun train rolling. I love them all so much. I’ve talked to you about Connor before, right?”

“I think so. Total slacker, could be one of the best students in the class if he gave a damn?”

“Yep, that’s the kid. He dropped the f and q slurs a couple of times complaining about the book.”

“Oh my god Patton are you okay? What happened? Did the kid get his ass handed to him like he deserves?”

“Breathe, Virgil. It’s all okay. He’s got detention for 2 weeks, his parents know and are pissed, and I was able to turn it into a good teaching moment. Well, technically, Samantha did.”

“Quiet Samantha?”

“Yeah, she had some incredible insights into the book and how it deals with sexuality and morality. She apparently read ahead and finished the book, so she was able to tie in Gray’s death too.

It was incredible to watch. She’s so quiet and started out so unsure, but by the end, she was so confident, I almost cried.”

“You cry at everything, Pat. Don’t argue- you cried last week because snakes don’t have legs. For real, though, that’s amazing. You are amazing.”

“It was all her!”

“No, it wasn’t. I was just like Samantha in school. I had so many things to say, but I was terrified of being wrong, so I said nothing. Except in classes where I completely trusted the teacher, where I knew my ideas would be really heard, not just listened to, and respected. Teachers like that, teachers like you, change the world. I guarantee that Samantha will never forget today, and neither will any LGBT+ kid in that class.

God, Patton, you change lives. You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and it blows my mind that somehow you think I’m worthy of your love. Every day, I try to be someone you can be proud of, and I want to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.” Virgil slipped out of his chair and onto one knee, pulling a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket.

“Patton Sanders, at the risk of sounding cliché as hell, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

“Virgil… my sweet and sour misunderstood shadowling, I couldn’t do any of what I do without you. You’re as important to me as air or puppies. You make me want to be the best version of me, and there is nothing I want more than to marry you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes! Virgil Raine, I absolutely will marry you!” Crying, Patton pulled Virgil up and kissed his fiancé. “Now, let’s have some engagement lasagna and take an engagement bubble bath!”

“You’re such a dork. I love you so fucking much.”

“I hope you do, 'cuz we’re getting married!”

“That we are,” Virgil chuckled, tears in his eyes as well.

 @mystrangedarkson

[lifeofgroffsauce]

Subject: Life Update (AKA Jon Spills His Soul)

June 25th, 2018. *Email contains TWs*

Today was the Mondayest of all Mondays. I got sunburned yesterday at Pride (super fun by the way, always recommend. Pride, not the scorched skin.) Really wasn't planning on going anywhere today. Our flight got in at 2 this morning, which was pretty rough. Probably should’ve planned that spontaneous trip to Cali better, but then it wouldn’t have been spontaneous now would it. Uh, I slept in until 8, if you could, on any level, call that sleeping in. Something I overheard yesterday kind of stuck with me in a negative way. I ran into (okay, more like eavesdropped onto) a group of gay men conversing about bisexual men. They were super insistent that there’s no satisfying a bisexual man because they always crave women. I know you know where this is going so yeah, bare with me. It’s so stupid; it even sounds just idiotic, because how can you shame an entire sexuality for the wrongs of a few people. I know it’s not logical. I know, I know, I know. It triggered this... I’m not even sure what to call it. Insecurity maybe? Naturally, the smallest of shit just exacerbated it. I got into a disagreement with my boyfriend over lube. Aloe as lube (which has a consistency akin to vaginal fluids (I’m sorry, even more sorry for brackets in brackets) so that just, BAD ). Specifically, him using it when he topped (dominated, if you’re not familiar) me. He didn’t want to and it fucking spiraled into this even bigger thing where my brain did that awesome cute thing of not shutting the fuck up. I didn’t even want him to touch me. How is that possible? How does it make sense? It’s so frustrating because I know it doesn’t. He started getting moody (I think) and for some reason that made me want to fuck him but- let’s put it this way: I’m finally seeing those side effects of Lexapro. As if I don’t already feel comfortable with my body, the one aspect I’ve never complained about doesn’t work. To top all of it off, I received an email from my agent that says filming for one of my projects has been moved up to August. The producers were talking about pushing this out until November, now it’s August? That’s less than six weeks away. I’m so fucking worried. I’m unfathomably worried that this is too soon to leave my boyfriend. I already know I’m going to miss so much: he’s having another baby in a few months (I can already imagine the new-baby-bonding with his not-even-ex wife he’s going to do), his third to accompany his two other small sons, one of which is still basically a newborn too. I’m going to miss out on these big stepping stones (there’s a better phrase out there, I’m adamant about it but don’t care enough to seek it; jk we both know I’ll get to the end of this and be anxious and not send this email if I don’t find it). WAIT, milestones! That’s the word. Including my commentary because I know how much you enjoy my psyche’s crisis. Um, yeah. I’m going to miss everything; I’ll be continents away in an entirely different time zone, filming a depressing fucking tv show, all alone; with the exception of my ex-boyfriend (who has been weirdly appropriate with me. Are you tired of all my notes in brackets yet?) Everything in my head is screaming it’s a bad idea: leaving. I can’t stay though; like, I can’t back out of this project. Papers have already been signed, the cast is locked in, and I’ve already removed myself from two other projects. It won’t look good on my theatre sheet/‘filmography’ to have that little *incomplete* red mark. To add (lol didn’t I already say thing or something? Fuck it, let’s keep rolling): Jesus Christ, my niece Camden has been so salty lately. She’s feeling so left out since I moved, but it’s not like I’m ten minutes away anymore and I can just easily pick her up. That little girl is my heart and soul; I’d never intentionally hurt her yet, here she is. Declining to spend the night or even hang out because she doesn’t get “all of me”. You have a daughter; what would you do with that one? Right, can’t make it personal. Sorry. Which, I think it super ironic when you think about how your patients (clients?) spill their motherfucking guts out on the ugly commercial carpet of your office (sorry if you chose it, so sorry!) and you’re not supposed to share much in return. My pop texted me to see if I was still coming to my parents’ wedding anniversary party, with my boyfriend. This will be the first time he’s meeting my dad, and the first time any significant other of mine will be meeting the rest of my PA family/friends. I don’t worry about Lin at all- he’s fucking amazing with people, and so, so charming. Jesus, does he have a way with words. Before this turns into a weird, unfulfilling love letter to him, let’s refocus. I don’t want to think about the way my father is going to look at me, at us, as a couple, together. Me, with another man. I’m still reeling over the last glance that seemed to scream, “ew, my son’s gay.” You know how people say things like, “Your parents love you unconditionally; they would never change a thing about you”? That’s definitely not true in my case, and I can feel it every time we’re alone. When we’re joking or talking, it’s cool, but then... then, there’s a silence that sets my teeth on edge and he acknowledges we’re not the same. Not that we were ever supposed to be but, I don’t even think I’m explaining this right, now. When I was a teenager (I know I’ve told you about this), a story came out on the local news about two homosexual men being wrongly jailed for a crime they didn’t commit. While awaiting trial, they were raped and beaten by a gaggle of bigger prison guys. Apparently it was so brutal they required stitching, to which the inmates tore out and repeated the first occurrence. Awesome, right. It’s forever burned in my mind what he said, because I know he wasn’t meaning to be cruel or callous but the words just came out. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone but if anyone would like it, God knows it would be those sissies. That’s what they all want anyway.” Followed by, “Sodomy is sodomy; they shouldn’t complain.” Every time I’m at my parents house, my brother Dave is amazing at swooping in to provide this phenomenal (majorly liberal) support system. He really pushes to educate my parents and not leave an older generation in the dark. I have to admit, he’s worked wonders with them, on so many different topics. That one though. I just think he looks at me and wishes so badly I was hetero. He’d sell his soul just to watch me marry Lea, I’m sure. Wow, my “just” count is insane but, no editing. Rolling with it; thoughts as they come. TLDR; I just feel like I’m disappointing everyone, or if I haven’t already, I’m going to. I fucking shouldn’t, I know that I’m thirty-three and still waiting for my parents approval is so goddamn old. It doesn’t mean anything though. Regardless, I’m waiting for the ball to drop, and I’m not sure the meds are helping. I haven’t been hyperventilating or had an actual attack but I still feel the anxiety. It feels like a harsh hand around my throat that makes it hard to breathe but I always somehow manage to catch my breath; that must be the drugs. I’m shocked I haven’t once mentioned how huge and disproportionate my thighs looked in every pair of baggy sweatpants and basketball shorts I tried on today. There’s one. It’s so exhausting to even try to talk about, or convey through here. You know the drill: thought about it for hours, picked at my food, maaaay have googled ‘things to eat for slim thighs’. Definitely did. At this point in life... I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. Between typing out sentences of this email, I stopped to try to get hard (you’re getting the explicit, uncut version, sorry; also hi, wishful thinking) but all porn does is annoy me. I feel so wound up, anxious, and almost angry. Low-key (this is new generation talk for like, “kinda”, I think) want to just... cry. In conclusion: Jonathan feels all the things and I haven’t even told you half of it... believe it or not. I have a headache and this couch is hurting my neck. This is all you’re getting. Relief, right? You’re like, “Thank fucking god, Jon, you already sent me a Harry Potter novel. Let me respond then you may continue rattling on about your not-even-bad life you’re complaining about.” It really ISN’T bad, for the record. It’s not, at all. I’m just in my feelings and at the peak of frustration. Okay, done ranting. I think I feel better? I might not even send this. Let’s play russian roulette with the enter key. If you get this, thumbs up. If you don’t... I guess I won’t expect a reply. Thank you, always, for dealing with me. I’m sorry these thoughts couldn’t wait... three days. Face palm.

[Sent]

[bulletproofcarats]

Hey Stranger

SeungcheolxReader, 

Fluff, angst

Messages in a bottle don’t always reach you on time.

The first time you met Seungcheol, you were busy tiptoeing to reach the top of the bookshelf.

“Almost…there.” You muttered to yourself as your fingers grazed the spine of the book you were reaching for when suddenly, another hand grabbed the book before gently taking yours and placing it on your hand.

“Here.” You looked up to thank the person who had helped you.

Dark black hair, a handsome looking face with a sharp jaw with a sharp nose and dark brown eyes along with full lips.

“Thank…Thanks.” You stuttered out. He smiled at you before glancing at the book cover. “Harry Potter?”

You beamed at him. “Its my favourite. Yours too?”

He shook his head. “Not really. But it’s okay.” Your jaw dropped.

“But how can you not it have love it? It’s so amazing and wonderful and magical and…oops I’m blabbering.” You shook your head in disbelief. The guy in front of you chuckled.

“So I take it you are a fan of the series?”

“Yes.” You said proudly. “Not just this series. Any good ones, like Percy Jackson and…wait, I’m going to blabber again.”

“No continue, I don’t mind.” He gave you a lazy smile as he leaned against the shelf. You blushed slightly.

“But what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to read?”

“Me? I’m waiting for a friend who-” There was a vibration and the guy took a phone out of pocket before checking it and sighing.

“Who stood me up.” He finished.

“Well then, stranger,” You don’t know what triggered you into doing it. “Why don’t you hang out with me instead?”

He glanced up from typing away furiously on his phone screen in surprise. “You sure? I thought you wanted to read the book which you had so much difficulty reaching.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that hidden remark about my height. But yeah, I’m sure.”

He crossed his arms. “Well then, okay. Let’s go somewhere where you can blabber on about books then. And I’m not stranger, I’m Seungcheol.”

-

“I stilł can’t believe that you ordered a butterbeer frappuccino and that the barista actually got it.” Seungcheol raised an eyebrow at you.

You shrugged. “I told you, I love Harry Potter and so does the whole universe..”

“And for the past twenty minutes, I gathered The Mortal Instruments, The Fault in Our Stars and The Hunger Games as well.”

“Well there’s more…” You gave him a coy smile. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You know, things you do, like and all.”

“Well, I like sports.” He told you as he sipped his hot chocolate.

You frowned. “That’s all? What sport do you do?”

He winked at you. “Guess.”

“Basketball? Rugby? Football?” Seungcheol raised his eyebrows.

“None to do with balls.”

“Let me off easy. Or I’ll flip you with that karate move which I saw in a movie not too long ago.”

Seungcheol snorted. “Joke’s on you then. I do Taekwondo. Its been seven years.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way.”

“I did say the joke was on you.”

-

You were pretty sure you could hear Seungcheol sniffling.

Or maybe you were sniffling too much that you had been imagining him doing the same thing too.

No one could blame you honestly, being a Harry Potter addict, obviously you would cry over Dobby’s death. It was tragic.

You snuggled deeper into the cushions of the sofa of your small but comfortable apartment, which Seungcheol had barged into before declaring that since it was a Saturday night and you both had nothing to do, it was good to watch a movie.

It had been a few months since you two had met at the library and even if you had been surprised, you said nothing but went to prepare popcorn as Seungcheol made himself comfortable on the sofa.

“Honestly,” you muttered. “I believe you only came here for free popcorn.”

“Can’t blame me.” Seungcheol gave you a lazy smile as he grabbed a handful of freshly prepared ones. “Who can resist a lazy day in?”

Halfway into the movie, messed up blankets, a half finished tub of popcorn and two finished cans of soda, you turned to Seungcheol who sat beside you, rubbing your eyes.

“You’re crying.”

“Am not. You’re the one crying too loud.”

“Your voice is cracking a little. I bet you’re sniffling. You know it’s okay to cry right? Dobby’s death gets me every time. See? I’m crying too.”

He reached over to grab another handful of popcorn without turning to face you.

“I’m not sniffling, Y/N. You are the only one contributing to all that crying.”

Ah well, he asked you for a tissue two minutes later.

-

“Roses are red, violets are blue, I hate you Seungcheol, may a car hit you too.”

Seungcheol laughed. “I know I’m a very catchy person, Y/N, but don’t go spouting poetry in my behalf.”

“You jerk.” You hissed. “That was the last slice of red velvet cake.”

“So? You had three slices already. I figured I’d eat the last one to even things out.”

“How does you eating five and me eating three even things out?”

“Hmm.”  Seungcheol propped his fingers on his chin and pretended to think about it. “I’m taller than you. I should eat more, you eat a lot already.”

“I don’t care how much I eat. I call bullshit.”

“You can call bullshit all you want.” Seungcheol rubbed his stomach. “It’s all in here.”

You tackled him to the ground. “Tickle fight!”

Laughing, Seungcheol rushed to defend his sides as you prodded him with your fingers. “Hey!”

“This is payback. Suffer! Villian, food hoarder!” You yelled as Seungcheol grabbed your wrist to prevent you from reaching his hips again.

“Its unfair that only you tickled me.” He pouted before smirking. “Here, I’ll pay you back double time.”

You screamed as he prodded your sides twice as much without relenting.

A few minutes later, the both of you lay on the grass, panting non stop. “I can’t believe it’s autumn already.”

“Neither can I.”

Indeed, the crisp reddish orange and golden brown leaves were all around you two and you smiled to enjoy the wind that gently blew past.

“You know,” You began, “I never really asked you, but what do you want to do in the future?”

“Me?” He turned to look at you. “A singer. I want people to like my songs. You?”

You shrugged. “Get into University as a science major. Are you sure you can even sing, food hoarder?”

“I’ll sing for you someday then.”

“Sure, and I’m gonna rest while I see if I should deem the fact you can sing believeable.”

Seungcheol however, had no intention of resting.

“Come on, let’s make piles of leaves and dump each other in them.”

-

“My parents are having a small gathering for my relatives.” You told Seungcheol as you munched on a packet of chips on the park bench.

“And?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he popped the popsicle in his hand into his mouth.

“I don’t want to go. Its stuffy and boring.”

“Like you?” Seungcheol snickered. “I was joking.”

“You have no idea what my relatives are like. Harping after my results, whether I’m dating, how much I’ve grown each year or every few months.”

Seungcheol shrugged. “Good luck Y/N. I can’t save you.”

“What? You’re just gonna leave me to die?”

“Yep.”

“How could you?” You whined. “I don’t wanna go all the way to street sixty and see them. My relatives are a bunch of irritating birds.”

“That’s not even a creative insult.”

You rolled your eyes.

-

You jerk. Do you know how much I’m suffering?

You glared at your phone screen before smiling politely at one of your aunts.

“Y/N ah, how old are you already? Eighteen?” She asked you, before tittering as you nodded your head.

“Are you dating anyone?”

You swallowed the groan that threatened to escape your mouth before mumbling a no to her.

“That’s too bad. You know my daughter, your cousin Areum has so many boys who fancy her that she can’t even decide who to date.” You scoffed to yourself. Areum was barely a year older than you and your aunt was actually making her sound like she was a princess with a long line of suitors.

Really? Suffer more.

You made a few rude gestures with the available emoticons on your phone before giving your aunt a forced smile that you were pretty sure must have looked like a grimace.

She’s asking me if I have a boyfriend.

Say no.

I did already.

“You know, I could perhaps ask Areum to introduce you to some of her guy friends. I know you are still, young, but it wouldn’t hurt to date abit.”

What was she, your mother? Speaking of which, your mother was busy cooking in the kitchen while your dad was in the next room with your uncles, which meant you were alone to fight this battle.

“Uh, no thank you. I’m not interested in dating.”

You excused yourself to the bathroom before resting against the sink and sending another text through your phone.

She wants to introduce me to some guys. I’m only eighteen for god’s sake, not some unmarried twenty nine year old prude.

Does your parent’s house have anything different from your neighbours’?

You frowned.

Uh, it’s the only one with a gray and white roof. Why?

He did not reply, and when you finally emerged from the bathroom, the doorbell rang.

“Y/N ah, someone’s outside our house. He says he’s here to pick you up for the group project you have later.” Your mom called.

You didn’t have any group project. You opened your mouth to protest as you went to the gate where your she was.

“Mom, I don’t have a-”

Seungcheol stood outside, with his hands in his jean pockets and a bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know this is abrupt and we were supposed to meet at the park near here before going to meet with the others together but the teachers moved the deadline to Monday and we need all the time we can get and edit the project, I got the message since I was the group leader.”

What was going on?

“Mom I-”

“It’s alright Y/N ah, your studies are important too and you’ve been here for three hours already.”

You turned to Seungcheol, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish, and he winked at you. It dawned on you that there was no group project at all.

Seungcheol had just provided the exit for you to waltz through without having to deal with your aunt again.

“I’ll…I’ll just go get my things.”

Your mom went back into the house with you as you grabbed your handbag and she smiled at you.

“Y/N ah, why didn’t you tell me you had such a handsome friend?”

You shook your head as you hugged her. “I’ll go say goodbye to dad and the others. See you soon.”

-

“How the hell did you even turn up that quickly after I sent that text?”

“You said it was at street sixty.”

“Meaning you just happened to be around there?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “I saved you okay. From being introduced to some guy who you never met. Least you can do is not question me and thank me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you Captain Kind.”

He grinned at you. “Treat me to ice cream.”

“No.”

“You know it could be a form of payment right? For me saving your ass.”

You snorted. “I think a group leader can buy ice cream for himself.”

-

“See I knew you’d buy me ice cream in the end.” Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you while eating his ice cream and you ate your own.

“I saw the benefits of buying it for myself at the same time since the store said buy one get one free.”

“I’ll just take it that you love me.”

“I love you not.”

“You don’t need to lie. It’s bad for your health.”

The two of you ate in silence, leaning against the railing outside the convenience store, watching cars zoom by before Seungcheol spoke again.

“I sent in my audition tape to a company.”

It had almost been a year since you found out that Seungcheol wanted to be a singer.

“It’s probably not going to make it though. I figured I’d just try it out.”

“You didn’t tell me before.” You said.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you by saying I was going to do it but then back out on it.”

“But you sent it in the end.”

“It might not even make it.”

“It will.”

But a part of you wondered, the ice cream in your hand forgotten, having known Seungcheol for close to two years, when it really did, what would happen?

-

“The movies.”

“The beach.”

“The movies.”

“The beach!”

“Well I said the movies first, so the movies!” Seungcheol folded his arms as he looked at you.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m sorry, I said the beach by a second earlier. So we are going to the beach.”

Seungcheol blew a raspberry at you.

“Maybe I’ll tell Jisoo about the time you spilled honey mustard sauce on his white shirt.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t. My brother will murder me.”

“Oh, but I would.”

“Fine.” He pouted. “But this is blackmail.”

You laughed. “Don’t be a sore loser. You just aren’t as sly as me.”

“Damn right, you Slytherin.”

-

The soft breeze that blew along the beach ruffled the tendrils of hair that had escaped from behind your ears as the both of you sat on the plastic sheet that had been laid out on the sand and bit into the sandwiches that had been brought along.

“Honestly I actually think coming to the beach was a good idea.”

You beamed. “Just look at this weather!”

“I meant the food.”

“Can you stop it with the food?”

“What? It’s bacon sandwich!”

You rolled your eyes as you drunk from your shared bottle of soda before standing up and walking towards the water.

The sea breeze was wonderful, the water was sparkling and clear, and the waves rolling in blended in with the picture as ships sailed on from afar.

“I bet it’s even more beautiful at night.”

You turned to find Seungcheol standing beside you, one hand in his pocket while the other held onto the bottle of soda.

“Really, huh? I’ve never had the chance to see it at night.” You murmured.

“Me neither. How about we see it together one day?”

You smiled softly as you looked up at him.

“Sure, why not?”

You could almost imagine it, the beautiful scenery of the beach at night, the distant lights sparkling in the horizon, the mist that would cloud things up abit, the stars twinkling in the night sky as the waves lapped against the shore…

“Oh, I think I finished the bottle of soda.”

You snapped back to reality as you narrowed your eyes at the bottle, which was indeed empty in Seungcheol’s hand.

“Choi Seungcheol…how dare you…”

He put up both hands as he fished a marker and notebook out of his pocket.

“Hey hey, I’ll show you something fun to do with the empty bottle.”

You narrowed your eyes as he scribbled something onto a piece of paper in he notebook and rolled it up before sliding it into the bottle, capping it and signing his name on the bottle and handing both the marker and the bottle to you.

“There. Sign your name too.” You narrowed your eyes, but did it anyway, signing your name beside his.

Seungcheol took back the bottle before walking to the edge of the water and gently set it floating, the both of you watching as the waves carried it out to the sea, further and further away until you both strained your eyes to see it.

“It’s a message in a bottle. You write something in it and set it out to the sea.”

“Like a wish?”

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair. “It depends on what the sender wants.”

“Well, what did you want? What did you write?” You looked at him curiously, the fact that he had finished up the soda long forgotten.

“Me?” Seungcheol tilted his head. “Everlasting friendship.”

-

“I don’t know Seungcheol, isn’t it August ninth today?”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at you. “Uh uh, Y/N, bring it out. I know you got a gift for me.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling out a box from a paper bag and throwing the paper bag at him.

“The headphones you were eyeing two weeks ago. It cost me half my life so your ass better be grateful for it. And here’s a cake which I personally decorated.”

Seungcheol pulled out the headphones and grinned at you. “It’s white.”

“Yes, I got your favourite colour too.” You said as you opened the box which contained the small cake inside and set it on the small coffee table in the living room.

“Wow, you’re being so kind to me on my birthday, though your hand at icing is pretty much an eyesore.”

You muttered something under your breath before smiling sweetly.

“Let’s see you talk more about how I do my decorations when this day is over.”

“Why, are you going to make me grovel before you?” He teased as he cut a piece of cake and passed it to you on a plate.

“Maybe I should have put Happy Birthday loser instead of your name on it. You certainly seem to fit the title very well.”

Seungcheol punched you softly in the arm before picking up a small stack of envelopes and flyers near the edge of the table.

“These came in the mail today. Birthday vouchers, agency flyers….oh.”

He looked up to you, back at the stack of envelopes in his hands, at you again, and back again. You stopped with your fork halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

“A letter came. From the company I sent my audition tape to.”

A letter. From… “Well? What does it say?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Ripping open the envelope, he scanned through the contents of the letter before his face broke into a wide grin.

“They accepted me. They say they want me to go down to see my skills in person before deciding what type of contract they would sign with me.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s…That’s good! Isn’t it a timely birthday present?”

Seungcheol shook his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it.”

You couldn’t either. But, what was it you couldn’t believe, that your best friend’s dreamed has gotten achieved, or that you might be this close to losing him?

-

“You’re treating aren’t you?” Seungcheol asked you as both of you approached the door of the restaurant, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yes.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m positive you cheated on the card game.”

Seungcheol gave you a scandalized look. “Its called luck. And don’t be a sore loser.”

You muttered under your breath as you pushed the door open, a faint thinking of bells indicating both of your entrances into the tiny restaurant, which was filled with customers sitting around tables in small cushioned chairs.

The barbecue place was where the two of you had managed to accidentally find one day after stumbling around a nearby mall and being close to starving, and it had become a place where the two of you would come to eat at when it felt like it.

“Ah it’s you two.” The owner came up to your table. “Who’s paying this time?”

“Me.” You narrowed your eyes at Seungcheol who raised both eyebrows at you.

“So you lost the game this time? It sounds fair to me. Poor Seungcheol paid for the last three times.” The owner beamed at you.

“Ahjusshi! Even you are supporting him?”

“Enough talk Y/N! I’m hungry! Three servings of meat and make sure you give us your most expensive fruits today too Ahjusshi, thank you!”

-

“You never got to sing for me.” You murmured as you hugged Seungcheol tightly at the airport.

Seungcheol ruffled your hair. “I’ll sing for you in the future. I’ll even write a song specially for you.”

“Call me?” He laughed.

“Yes mam.”

The company had accepted him but he had had to fly over to Seoul, where the company was officially sited to begin his training life there, and was set to debut as a solo artist in a year or so.

“Time will fly fast. I’ll soon be a famous singer with a bookworm for a best friend.”

“Well, make sure you visit your best friend even before you become famous.”

“Yes mam. So I’ll have to sing for you, write a song for you and visit you. Everything inside has a you in it. Happy?”

-

Seungcheol did call you and text you daily for the first few months.

“Hey Y/N. You wouldn’t believe what happened at dance practice today.”  You smiled at his voice over the phone.

“What? You landed on your ass?”

-

“They had a small Harry Potter both set up outside the company yesterday! You would have loved it. Everything was so cheap and nice!”

“You better have gotten one for me Seungcheol.”

“I didn’t. Kidding.”

-

“I ate Bibimbap yesterday. Did you eat kimchi again?”

“Yes Y/N. Kimchi in that restaurant near the dorms is quite delicious.”

“You really should have some good meat you know. The owner of the barbecue shop we used to go to misses us.”

-

Yet it soon reduced to short calls or texts which told you good morning or goodnight, and the last time you heard from him, it was the day before his debut.

“It’s tomorrow isn’t it?” You murmured into the phone.

“Yeah it is. I’m so nervous. What if people don’t like the song I wrote?”

“It’s going to be fine Seungcheol. I’m sure you did a great job with it. I listened to it, remember? I loved it.”

Seungcheol chuckled nervously on the other end of the line. “You did?”

“Obviously. It’s you who wrote it. Of course you are going to do great tomorrow.”

Of course he did great.

You saw him on TV and you couldn’t stop smiling even after because boy did he look great and he bombed his performance.

Which led to his popularity almost rising instantly.

“Yah! How could you hardly contact me since your debut.” Seungcheol looked at you sheepishly through his side of the video call which he had managed to squeeze into his time.

“Sorry Y/N. Things are so hectic here.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know, you know you did so well for your debut. I’m not surprised.”

“You know I got that song written for you right? Just that the company’s shelving it for another concept.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

Variety shows, encore stages, a few advertisements and so much more, Seungcheol hardly had time to contact you due to his busy schedule, and between the short texts of good morning and good night, it soon dwindled to nothing at all.

You minded of course, but you’d keep a smile on your face as you texted him, because he was living his dream as a successful singer.

So successful that everywhere you went, you could hear people talk about him.

“You know Choi Seungcheol’s album? My parents got me the special edition for my birthday.”

“Really? You are so lucky! I wish mine were this nice too.”

You leaned against the bookshelf of the stationary store, smiling sadly as the pair of school girls walked past you.

He’d come back to visit soon after promoting, right?

-

A year passed and Seungcheol produced many songs, each better than the last. Yet, having hardly contacted Seungcheol much, you didn’t know whether one of them was the song he had written for you.

It could have been the one titled Adore you, or maybe Shining Diamond? You didn’t know.

It was rather hard to tell between a few hi’s, byes, small jokes via text and everything else, since you had also gotten into a university and all your studies were catching up on you as well.

Well before things did get too busy for even you to take, you decided, as you popped open your soda bottle at the beach, you’d keep track of the past year and maybe leave it to fate to decide what to do with the record.

Seungcheol wasn’t the only one capable of making records after all.

Taking out a notepad and a pen, you began writing.

-

Both of you were so busy with different types of schedules between part time working, studying and singing and that as you were passing by the gate of the university to wait beside the traffic light, your eyes popped open in shock when you saw a text from Seungcheol.

I’ll be coming back the day after tomorrow Y/N. I’m sneaking back since I’m on a small break from my last comeback. One year apart with just texts and rare video calls is killing me.

I remember my promise to sing something for you. I wrote a song for my next album you already you know? Its for you. I remember my promise.

You remembered smiling and texting him a paragraph as the light turned green and you stepped out onto the road before-

A screech, flying in the air, screaming, blackness.

And then nothing.

-

He stood on the sand, near the waves, a bottle with your name signed on top of it and a piece of paper unfolded in his hand.

Hey stranger Should I really be calling you stranger? I don’t know really. But its what I said the first time we met. But do you know the meaning of a message in a bottle? Of course you did, if you were the one who taught me about it in the first place.  It was a form of communication for distress messages, invitations to prospective pen pals, letters to actual or imaginary love interests. I’m communicating with you alright, but it’s definitely not a distress message because I’m happy where I am, waiting for you to come back.

Where to start? Maybe how we first met. Who would have thought that the bookworm who was trying to reach the top of the bookshelf at the library would become friends with someone who got stood up by another friend at the library? Or that we’d become so comfortable with each other and be fast friends? Or that we’d tease each other so much and even be able to play along and act with each other? I don’t know really. If fate brought this pair of friends together, then fate shall make sure this bottle finds the other half of the pair one day.

The past year’s been rather lonely without you, you idiot. Having the television and earpieces with your music and performances does not count. Do you still have an obsession with food? You’ve written so many songs that I don’t even know if there’s one which I can’t identify on the spot. You’ve achieved your dream as a singer, you know? People listen to your songs and love your albums here, definitely in other parts of the country and world too. I guess I’m lucky to have such a talented best friend.

University’s busy too. Lectures, projects, slides and trying to hound the professor with questions after lectures are exhausting as well. But it keeps me busy and from thinking and worrying too much about you all the time.

I’ll wait for you to come back and keep your promise? We haven’t spent a night at this beach yet. You owe me a lot of promises so I’ll take this beach as sacred ground when I keep this message in a bottle and send it out to sea.

Love,

Y/N

Fate indeed.

Cruel, if it had caused you to die in a car crash two days before he sneaked back and heard the news.

Beautiful but even more cruel if it had prompted him to come to this beach to mourn silently.

Extremely cruel and sad if the bottle had just floated to his feet while he looked aimlessly out to the horizon as the sea breeze blew.

And maybe the most cruel of all if the last if everything you had told him was about promises.

Because the last text you sent had been

Choi Seungcheol you have more than just one promise to keep.

-

Three months later, a figure dressed in a hoodie stood on the same beach with a plastic jar in hand, under the night with stars spread across the dark sky.

Pressing the play button if the cassette player, the same figure placed it in the jar along with a small letter, before closing the lid and setting it out to sea.

Hey Y/N,

Here’s to the night on the beach which we couldn’t see together.

And here’s to another promise I couldn’t keep,

From the idiot of a best friend who couldn’t keep his promise.

Now playing

Choi Seungcheol’s album

Record 01

Don’t Wanna Cry

~Admin Waffle

[concussed-to-pieces]

Only One

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Chris Jericho/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday Crew, welcome aboard once again! And welcome to my first shot at writing the gift that is Jericho! Tagging our usual suspects, @tox-moxley, @oraclegazes and of course, Captain @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

!TRIGGER WARNING!: This will contain a few allusions to significant (around twenty years) difference in age.

‘The List of Jericho.’

It was perfect. The lettering on the back was precise, the metal of the clipboard polished to a silver sheen. He would start off with ten sheets of the nicest lined paper he could get his hands on, and a pen that felt good to write with.

Chris Jericho was a man on a mission, accosting interns and stagehands and demanding to try their pens. Where else did you get pens these days, really? Kevin had rolled his eyes at his antics but what did he know?

Finally. After what felt like months (and was probably only three days or so) one pen scribbled across his test page and he stopped dead. Perfect. He wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it. The interns and stage hands were apparently tired of his search and had started hiding their pens from him, or offering him inferior ballpoints. But this one. It sang on the page, the ink cobalt blue and vibrant. Jericho was hooked.

The List grew quickly, as the hunt for the perfect pen had hindered its advancement. Chris had the feeling that he would be doling out punishment for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t really paying attention to how fast he was burning through ink, until one night the pen ran dry as he was trying to write Tom Phillips in. Panic struck him. Without the pen, his List was nothing!

A hand suddenly snatched the pen from his grasp and Jericho made a despondent noise.

“So that’s where my pen went! What the heck, Mr. Jericho?” It was one of the stage hands. Chris could never remember their names, all of them blurring together into a mass of black polo shirts and coffee cups with his name on them. “And of course, you wrote it empty. Great. Now I have to get another one. Like having to borrow pens from everyone else for a week wasn’t bad enough.” She grumbled.

Jericho perked up. “Get another one? Where? How much? Can I give you like. Money and you can get me more of those pens?”

“Considering the fact that you stole this one, no. Get one of the other guys to do it.” She snapped angrily.

Oh. I have to apologize if I want anything done. Chris cringed. He wasn’t particularly fond of apologizing. The idea of him doing anything that would actually require an apology was pretty laughable. “I uh. I’m sorry. I don’t actually know where I got ahold of that pen. I promise I didn’t lift it off you. I would remember.” A little flattery never hurt anyone. “It just writes so well, and I needed the perfect pen for my List.”

She huffed, but Jericho noticed her cheeks pinking up. “…how many of them do you need?” She asked finally, crossing her arms over her chest.

Chris blinked. He hadn’t expected her to cave so quickly. Still got it, Jericho! “How big of a pack do they sell them in?”

“I think they have ten packs-”

“Get me six of those. I’ll…here hang on.” Chris dug his wallet out of his tight jeans. “How far away is the store, I’ll factor in gas.”

She looked at him, seeming bewildered. “You want sixty pens?”

“You’re right, shit. More than that. Just…if they’ll sell you a whole box, get me that. I need these pens, man.” Chris appreciated her intelligence. Obviously she understood the importance of his List. “How soon can you get them? Can you get them tonight? Or do you have to still do chairs and all that?”

“I-I should be able to run out real quick. We’re set for chairs and matting the area. I’ll definitely be back before you’re called, okay?” She replied, flinching when Jericho grabbed her hand and pressed a few crumpled fifty dollar bills into it. “Oh, this is way too much Mr. Jericho, they’re only like-”

“You’re doing me a huge favor, just hurry.” Chris said impatiently. “Unless you want me to put you on the List too!”

She cracked a smile at that and Chris felt his stomach do an odd backflip. “Oh no, oh hell no. That’s a fate worse than death. I’ll be back with your pens. And your change.”

She returned within the hour, a little out of breath when she showed up with a large box and a coffee at he and Kevin’s shared dressing room. Chris was thrilled, there were even different colors! Imagining the possibilities, the fresh new organization of his List, he balanced the box and coffee on one arm and shook her hand fervently. “Thank you.” He was half-surprised that he actually meant it.

“It wasn’t any trouble. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” She apologized, her smile a little more sheepish this time. “Having a kind of tough day.”

“What happened?” Chris had no idea why the hell he asked that, what did he care?

She waved him off anyway. “I won’t bore you with that crap. Receipts and change are in the box. Enjoy your pens. Don’t steal any more of mine, okay?”

“Absolutely not. I…thank you.” Jericho didn’t understand why he felt awkward. “I uh. I hope the rest of your night goes a little better.”

“Thank you! Um, good luck. With your list.”

It wasn’t until after the show that Jericho, gathering up his personal items, realized that she’d ordered herself a coffee as well when she got him one. Huh. He studied the receipt, not sure why at first. Chris clicked his fresh pen in his hand a few times, then flipped to the last page on his clipboard and began to write.

…

The look on her face when he sought her out on the following Monday was incredibly gratifying. Chris felt warm all over as she stammered and accepted the cup of coffee. “How’d I know your order? It’s a secret. I know everything.” He grinned.

One of the other stage hands hollered at her to “stop flirting and get a move on!”, his loud voice making her jump.

“S-Sorry, I have to-” She started to apologize but Chris was already clicking a new pen. The ink in it was red as Raw and he shuffled his papers around until he found a bit of free space.

“What’s that guy’s name.”

“Mr. Jericho-”

“What’s. His. Name.” Chris was confused at his own angry reaction but figured he’d roll with it. His instincts were usually pretty decent.

“Gary, but you don’t-”

“Hey Gary!” Jericho called loudly, making the other man look up. With a wide flourish of his arm Chris gestured down at his List. “You just made the List, buddy!”

Gary shook his head, grunting something under his breath and stomping off. “He’s one of the senior stage hands, Mr. Jericho. You probably shouldn’t have upset him.” She said quietly.

“He shouldn’t have interrupted me! And neither should you, I was in the middle of doing something.” Chris attempted to sound stern as he continued writing ‘Gary’. “I told you, I’ll put you on here if you don’t watch it.”

“Oh no, don’t put me on the List. Oh gee.” Her sarcastic tone made Chris grin. When he looked up and saw her smiling too, his stomach flip-flopped oddly. She cleared her throat after a second, dropping her eyes to the coffee in her hand. “Thank you again for the coffee, Mr. Jericho. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” Jericho tried for his usual cocky smirk, but it felt a little too soft. He turned on his heel and headed off, loosening his scarf around his neck as he left.

…

It occurred to him as he was preparing for the show that he might…just might, have an...interest.

“An interest that is not entirely platonic.” Kevin deadpanned from the couch in their dressing room. “In layman’s terms, you’re into her.”

Jericho huffed at him, straightening out his jacket. “What would you know, you’re wifed up.” He pointed out childishly. “So I get her coffee sometimes, what’s the big deal?”

“You know her order by heart and you almost ripped that guy at the Tim Hortons in half because he fucked it up. Which means you’ve tasted her order before, if only to ensure quality. You put the drink guy and that Gary guy that you said yelled at her on your List.” Kevin rattled off, looking bored.

“I put a lot of people on the List!” Jericho protested.

“Mm, but not dumb, random people.” Kevin leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Face it, you’ve got it bad.”

“I didn’t ask you, did I?”

“Don’t have to. We’re partners. I know these things.” Owens yawned, ever the picture of insolence. “You’re also an open book. You’d think that after being in this business for so long you would have learned how to act a little better. I grew up watching you and I thought you were a badass. But now…”

“I’m sorry I don’t enjoy stifling my existence like you do, Owens.” Chris replied haughtily, focused on wrapping his scarf just right so it wouldn’t fall off.

“It’s not stifling it, I’m kinda’ private is all. Everyone doesn’t need to know my business. They’re not really here for me anyway, they’re here for an angry guy who yells a lot and gets frustrated.” Kevin shrugged. “That’s not me all the time, but that’s what they’re here for. I’m not saying it’s bad that you’re interested in someone, Chris. It’s just...out of character. You’ve got the rockstar look and personality, but none of the games behind it.”

“Tell me how you really feel Kevin, yikes.”

“Okay, I think you need to go ask her out before something happens. I don't want to deal with you hang-dogging around and cluttering up our List with boyfriends that aren't even yours.” Kevin said plainly, giving Chris's shoulder a shove. It wasn't exactly a fond gesture, but Chris knew that he meant well.

Probably.

…

Jericho realized what Owens was talking about, seconds too late. He stood in the doorway of the bar, pretty sure that his face was an unfortunate shade of purple.

He had spotted her backstage earlier in the night, and his stomach had clenched because she wasn't wearing the usual black polo. Instead, she wore a shirt he knew far too well, the black one with the red raised fist that stated RAW IS JERICHO in blocky lettering. He'd meant to say something, but Kevin needed to speak with him and then he lost sight of her. And now he was too late, too damn late. She sat at the bar, smiling and laughing with one of her male coworkers. She looked so good wearing his merch. She had no right to torment him like this, what the heck had he ever done to her?!

Oh, the pen thing. He cringed. I did kind of say I was sorry, should have put more effort into it. Chris made up his mind. He was Chris goddamn Jericho! The Lion Heart! Master Of A Thousand And Four fucking Holds! He wasn't about to be upstaged by some hipster kid half his age, probably drinking wheat tea or some shit like that. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he all but swaggered to the bar and sat down on the barstool beside her. “Come here often, gorgeous?” He asked, barely able to keep a straight face when she quickly turned around.

“Chris! Um, I mean Mr. Jericho. H-How are you?” She twiddled her fingers, seeming flustered. “I...I didn't expect to see you here.” Her coworker, obviously understanding that he was outmatched, bid her goodnight and gave Jericho a knowing wink over her head.

Chris barely resisted the urge to snarl at the other man, hastily redirecting his attention to her. “You can call me Chris, if you want. I won't tell.”

“I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have...that was really unprofessional of me.” She apologized.

Jericho chuckled. “I think I busted through that issue when I started picking up coffee for you, princess.” He pointed out, “I'm not exactly the most professional guy on the roster. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you. I...I try not to be star-struck. I think I did pretty good, all things considered. I...” She paused when Jericho's hand landed on her knee, swallowing hard. “Sorry about the shirt. I've had it for ages.”

“Why the heck are you apologizing?” Chris asked, genuinely puzzled.

“It's like a cry for attention, Mr. Jericho. Super unprofessional! I just...” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt for a second. “I like being noticed every once in a while, you know?”

“Who doesn't notice you? They're going on my List.” He threatened.

Her grateful smile made his throat tighten. “You're so sweet. Thank you, Mr. Jericho.”

“Just call me Chris from now on, okay? Because if you keep calling me Mr. Jericho after this beautiful talk we’ve had, I’m gonna’ put you on the List.” When the hell had his voice dropped into that lower register?

“…Alright. Chris.” She said his name slowly this time, like she was savoring it.

Chris felt a shiver traipse down his spine and he barely kept from raking a hand through his hair. He hadn’t had it long enough to do that in years, why the heck would he return to that now?

They sat at the bar for quite a while, talking about damn near everything. She gave him numerous openings to talk about himself and he was only too happy to oblige, recapping year after year spent in the professional wrestling and musician ranks.

“I’ve always wanted to do this, you know. I mean, not work backstage necessarily, but I wanted to learn from the ground up. I know a lot of people think that as long as they’re physically fit they have a shot and they just don’t get it, you know? It’s about so much more than the stunts. Nothing would happen if it wasn’t for the road crew, for the tech guys and the makeup girls. Coming in at the lowest level made me appreciate that.” She spoke with such conviction, practically rambling when he asked her why she’d gotten into the business.

Jericho was abruptly reminded of a much younger him forcing Goldberg into a front facelock for insulting his mother. He’d felt passion like that once, like traveling to the next city and the itch under his skin to compete, to learn and grow and show everyone what he could do was everything, was the only thing.

Somewhere along the way though, something had happened. Shit, now he couldn’t even buy his own pens. Coffee was a necessary struggle but that didn’t stop him from abandoning one drive-thru in search of another if the line was deemed too long. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe he had gotten soft. Jericho wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

She seemed to notice how quiet he’d gotten, a gentle hand covering his own on the bar. “Hey, did I say something wrong? Am I being annoying?”

“No no! Sorry, shit. It’s not you.” Chris tried for his confident smirk but he was pretty sure it looked like a grimace. “I just...headache, you know how it is.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I should probably let you get some sleep then. I didn’t mean to keep you this long, anyway. You ought to know better than let me talk.” She joked.

Chris shook his head, holding her hand in his own. “I like listening to you. I’ve had a great time tonight.” The fact that he kept meaning the shit that came out of his mouth was both confusing and relieving. He’d felt fake for so long that it seemed normal.

She went bright red, stammering something that he didn’t catch when Chris pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Jericho stood, straightened out his coat and offered her his arm. “May I walk you to your car, madame?”

…

He didn’t expect it, which should have made it hurt so much more. But as Kevin stood over his body putting on that show of rage that only he could sell, Jericho just felt numb. Zayn had warned him. He’d warned him with that sad look in his eyes, one of his shoulders dipped lower than the other.

“Kevin doesn’t have friends anymore, Jericho.”

Chris had wanted to believe he was different. He was obviously a better choice than Sami, that was why Kevin had latched onto him. It definitely wasn’t because he was stupid or easily manipulated. Nope.

Tears burned his eyes as he made his way backstage, shoving past people in a useless bid to escape Kevin’s harsh actions. All his things were in the hotel room he and Kevin shared, and of course Kevin had the damn key. Chris wanted to scream in frustration. He was hurt and tired and he just wanted to go to bed and forget this terrible fucking day, this absolutely shit day.

“Chris?”

Of course. Jericho closed his eyes for a second, one hand still on the door to the outside as he sucked in a breath. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” She was worried. That shouldn’t have made him angrier but so soon after what had happened it hit Jericho like a slap to the face.

“Fuck you! 'Are you okay?' Of course I ain’t okay! Get bent princess!” He exploded, whirling on her like a cornered animal. The door was right fucking there, he could leave. “I thought he was my best friend! I let him play me like a goddamn violin! Do you have any idea how pissed off I am right now?! Do you?!” He didn't know when he'd gotten so close to her, practically crushing her to the wall with his body. “Have you ever had something like this happen to you? Please, fucking inform me why the hell I would be okay right now!”

“Chris, I...” She wouldn't look him in the eye so he jerked her chin up.

“Fucking answer me.” Chris demanded. He knew he wasn't actually mad at her, but shit, it made him feel a little less furious if he pretended he was. He would willingly beat the shit out of Owens. He would never hurt her. It helped. Barely.

When she did finally make eye contact with him though, Chris felt like he'd been bounced off the apron again. She didn't look scared, thank God, just nervous. Concerned. “Chris?” She asked softly.

“Shit, I...I'm sorry.” He apologized, lifting his hands and moving to step away. Her arms wrapped around his waist, tugging him back in against her. One of her hands cupped the nape of his neck, the other curled up on the small of his back. She was hugging him.

“Do you have someplace to stay for the night?” She asked softly after a few minutes of silence.

Chris shook his head no. It was taking most of his strength to keep from slumping over and pinning her to the wall in the process. His temper had evaporated, leaving him bone-weary and more than a little ashamed of himself. “Kevin has the key to our room.”

“Here. Take mine. It's nothing fancy, but you can at least sleep some of this off.” She offered, fumbling for her wallet and pulling her hotel keycard out. “You're lucky. I usually have to share a room with someone.”

“N-No, I can't--” Jericho wanted to protest, wanted to drive over to that goddamn hotel and camp in the hallway next to his fucking room until Owens showed up. “Princess, I can't do that to you. I'll be alright.”

“Like hell you will, you're distraught and you're obviously not thinking clearly. I have a spare key, I'm not going to be back in for a while at the rate that this show is going.” She planted her palms on his chest and carefully pushed him towards the door. “Now go. Before some other stupid bullshit happens.”

…

Her hotel room only had one bed. Jericho felt dumb, obviously he should have gathered that. He really, really wanted to shower, but the idea of putting his dirty clothes back on made him grimace. Maybe he could wash his boxers in the sink or something, dry them with the blow dryer. It seemed almost barbaric. He hadn't had to do that in ages, usually armed with a suitcase full of clean clothes.

Chris opened the door to the bathroom and stopped dead at the sight of the bright goddamn red, lacy panties that hung over the shower curtain rod. The matching bra beside them just added to the processing time. Well, that's something to think about. He blinked, hand reaching for the panties before he could stop himself. They're fucking small. Cute. I should not be touching these.

Jericho snatched up the bra and draped both items over the towel rack hastily, feeling unnaturally worried that someone might see him. He was a grown ass man for fuck's sake! Couldn't a grown man pick up a set of underwear? An attractive set of underwear? That should be attached to an equally attractive woman, preferably so he could take it back off? Fuck, stop it! Chris scolded himself, stripping his shirt off over his head and unbuttoning his jeans.

His hot shower soothed away some of the aches and pains in his body and reminded Jericho that he was fucking exhausted. He barely had the energy to move from his comfortable position against the shower wall, stumbling out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and gave his boxers a once-over in the sink, having to shake himself awake a few times even as he did it. Usually he didn't feel his age but tonight he was painfully reminded, head and lower back pounding in tender sync. Chris stared dully at himself in the mirror for a minute, hands full of sopping-wet boxer shorts.

“Go to bed, man.” He finally said aloud, waving off his reflection and fumbling with the hair dryer. His boxers were maybe a little damp when he was done, but he just could not stay upright for any longer.

He vaguely remembered that she came in at some point well after midnight, the shaft of soft light from the hallway momentarily rousing him. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.

“Shh, it's just me.” Lips pressed to his bare shoulder. “I got your things. Sleep.” A warm body curled around his in a gentle embrace. “Sleep, Chris. You're safe here.”

…

Chris woke up the next morning with a numb arm, but he couldn't bring himself to move it. She looked so content with her head pillowed on his bicep, her breathing slow and quiet. Had she really said he was safe last night, like...like she really cared about him?

Jesus Christ, she was maybe half his fucking age. Little more. His morning wood didn't give a shit but his brain sure as hell did, seeming to wake the fuck up for once and reprimand him for being a goddamn creep. Jericho winced. The hum started without his intent, all too familiar words floating to the surface of his mind. Here I am, I'm in the wrong bed again...

Chris's lips twitched and then he carefully tucked an errant strand of hair back behind her ear, unable to help the rueful smile that crossed his face. She stirred, frowning in her sleep and moving even closer to him. Her shirt slid off her shoulder and Jericho swallowed hard at the sight of a red bra strap, fingers already on their way over before he realized it. Snapping bra straps hadn't been his thing for years but shit if this one didn't demand it.

“You're an asshole.” She murmured, opening one eye to glare at him.

Jericho didn't really expect the burst of laughter that came out of him, but he was in bed with a beautiful woman probably half his age and he felt pretty good despite everything. He shushed her, rubbing over the irritated skin with his thumb. “Je suis désolé, m' sorry. I had to.”

“Mm, get fucked.” She replied, grabbing the waistband of his boxers over his hip and slingshotting the elastic back at him. Chris yelped, trying to squirm away as she crooked her fingers into claws and started tickling him. “This is what you get for waking me up, you dick!”

“Mercy! Uncle, uncle!” He begged through his laughter, trying to grab her hands as she flung herself at him.

“I went over last night with Sami and we got your things.” She said quietly after he managed to get her tangled in the sheet. “Zayn was livid. I thought he was going to tear Kevin apart at the venue.” She twiddled her fingers beneath the sheet. “Sami says he hopes you're alright, and that he's sorry.”

“He warned me, y'know. Told me. Not like I hadn't seen their match, but still. I walked into that situation fully aware. I just...I thought I was smarter than Zayn.” Jericho admitted.

She 'tsk'ed, rolling to look at him. “Pride goeth before a fall and all that.” She reached over the edge of the bed, grabbing his familiar silver clipboard. “Here, I picked it up during the break so that it wouldn't get thrown away.”

Chris took the clipboard from her, feeling more than a little pitiful. “Why the heck are you being so nice to me?” He asked plainly. “I'm obviously an asshole. I just...I don't get it is all. Sorry.”

“You just had the crap kicked out of you by a guy who you thought was your best friend! I think I'm allowed to be nice, even to an asshole like you.” She pointed out.

Jericho's tightening grip on the clipboard made the metal creak weakly. He didn't know what the hell to do with himself. She just kept looking at him, radiating kindness and worry and Chris didn't mean to lean in. He really didn't. He told himself to get the fuck up, get out of the bed and leave, leaveleaveleave because this was bad, so bad. There was no way that this could end well.

Then she kissed his forehead, smiled at him, and got up.

Just like that.

Like it was easy. Simple.

“I have to get ready for the next town, answer some emails, but you're welcome to go back to sleep. I know you're probably still exhausted. I'll wake you up when it's closer to when we need to check out. I um. I guess you're riding with me? Or is your and Kevin's rental in your name?” She asked.

Oh, right. Chris had almost forgotten. “It's in my name. Check your rental back in and we'll take mine, save you some cash.” He refused to take no for an answer, silencing her with a pompous hand motion and then rolling over to snuggle back into the blankets.

…

She wouldn't let him drive and Chris was secretly grateful. He still put up a fight. He didn't really need to be coddled, damn it, he would be alright. He'd taken worse bumps than what Kevin had put him through.

It was nice though, to be able to sit in the passenger seat and listen to music, absently doodling on his List as the miles trekked by. Kevin always had something to say and it wasn't often that Jericho could just prop his chin up on his hand and think without being interrupted sixteen times.

She stopped to get lunch at some healthy place that boasted 'paleo and vegan options!' on the plate glass window out front. It was entertaining when they both realized that what that meant to the person making the menu was...salad. Lots of salad. She couldn't stop giggling as Jericho read through, no word of a lie, twenty-eight different variations on the standard rabbit food, ranch dressing-drenched fare.

Her laugh was...it was nice. He could definitely get used to hearing it. Could get used to a few other things, if he was being honest. Her knees kept bumping his beneath the table, her sneakers ending up on top of his comfortable boots and Jesus, Jesus he could definitely live with more of this. Chris had no idea how the hell he was supposed to act, she wasn't really being flirty. Not like how he was used to, anyway. She was being more...shit, like they were already a couple. Like they'd already dealt with that first date hurdle and were comfortable with one another.

Well, we did kind of share a bed. Jericho grimaced inwardly. She beckoned him close after they ordered, asking for his phone and then quickly taking a selfie of the two of them.

“Post it, let's make that asshole jealous.” She grinned mischievously at him. Chris's insides felt like someone lit them on fire, his whole body going hot at that cocky little smirk.

Oh I'm in big trouble.

She didn't seem to mind when he snagged some of the little oranges from her salad, or when he leaned in a little closer than he needed to after she pulled up a video on her phone. Chris pushed his luck and placed a kiss on her knuckles as they stood to leave, gratified when a flush rose on her cheeks and she shyly looked away.

Never let it be said that Chris Jericho was not a man of action, regardless of whether that action was going to earn him a beating or something more...entertaining.

…

Chris didn't have a match that night, thank God. He was distracted enough pacing back and forth in the arena hallway, clicking a pen nervously. He was her ride back to the hotel and yeah, he might have gotten there a little early, but it's not like it mattered.

So he was worried. Fine. It didn't matter. He was worried about Owens pulling something and it was driving him insane. Fine. It didn't matter. Besides, erring on the side of caution wasn't a bad idea.

It didn't matter.

The surge of relief he felt when he saw her making her way towards him was short-lived. “A couple of us are planning on going out for drinks, do you want to come?” She asked, sounding hopeful.

Jericho cringed, gripping the pen and his List tightly. It's a game I just can't win. “Nah, I'll pass. Do you still need a ride?”

She nodded, looking let-down. “I need to change, anyways.”

And that was how Chris found himself subjected to helping zip her into a cute, tight little black dress before she headed back down to the lobby bar. Jericho sat down on the bed after she left, heaving a sigh. He flipped to a fresh page on the List and began to write.

The bartender.

Whoever invited her out.

For being the guy hell-bent on it not mattering, it sure as shit seemed to matter quite a bit. Chris's brow furrowed angrily. He scribbled over the words, ripping the page with his efforts. Kevin was right and that pissed him off. He would fill the damn List with pointless, normal people and what the hell was the good in that? So he could feel better about being too much of a idiot to ask her out when he had the chance?

Jericho shook his head at himself, got to his feet and slipped his jacket on. He'd waited long enough on this. Shit, he should have asked her out the first time he got her coffee, never mind coming in at the eleventh fucking hour when some other guy had probably asked her on a date.

He felt like a stupid idiot as he pressed the button for the elevator and waited in the hallway, his hands in his pockets. Shit, maybe the stairs would be quicker. Was the elevator broken?

The doors finally slid open with a soft ding and Chris whipped back around from staring contemplatively at the stairwell. He was greeted by the sight of Kevin Owens, whose eyes widened when he saw Chris. Jericho snarled, lunging into the elevator and tackling the other man. Kevin's back hit the opposite side of the elevator, mashing random buttons.

Chris rained blows on the Universal Champion's head, yelling a blue streak in a mixture of half-assed French and heartfelt English as the elevator rolled down and then came to a halt at the floor below. Kevin fumbled to escape the older man's onslaught to no avail; the elevator doors slid shut again. Owens finally got free of Jericho when the doors opened to the foyer, bolting over him and sprinting to the bar. Chris picked himself up, furious that Owens might escape him in the dimly lit area.

“Owens you get your ass back out here!” He shouted as he stormed into the bar, “Get back out here and fight me like a man, you punk!”

“I don't think so Chris, I've got your little girlfriend!” Kevin replied, sounding positively triumphant as he wrangled the woman in question off her barstool. “Ta pu-”

“She'll kick your ass too, you stupid idiot!” Chris raged, cutting the other man off before he could finish. “Don't call her that, don't you dare call her that!”

“I'll call her whatever the fuck I w--!” Kevin's smirk was wiped off his face when she got a hand free and delivered a punch that looked like it rattled his teeth.

“Let me go!” She snapped, pulling back for another strike. Owens, clearly not expecting the level of resistance he was getting, all but threw her at Jericho and then sprinted past him to the stairwell. Chris barely managed to catch her, knocked off balance himself by the force Kevin had put behind his shove.

“Christ. You okay?” He panted. “You pack a mean wallop, princess, how's your wrist?”

“What the hell was that about?!” She asked, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal as she completely ignored his own question. “Chris, what the ever-loving--jeez!” Her hands rested on his chest, shaking just a little bit.

Chris didn't know whether it was the adrenaline talking, or maybe he was just sick and tired of everything crashing down on him, but he crushed her body against his own and proceeded to kiss her until he was breathless. “Are. You. Okay.” He gasped, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Yeah I...yeah.” She replied softly, looking dazed. “You just...”

“Yeah.” There was a sinking feeling clawing at his chest, but he kept her pressed tightly to him. “I was coming down here to tell you and then he was in the--”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him back. Chris was dimly aware of a few wolf-whistles and cheers from her coworkers, but he couldn't be fucked to pay attention to them. All he could focus on was how soft her lips were against his own; her whole body molded to his like it was meant for him, fuck.

“We have to go to the room.” Chris breathed. She didn't reply and he forcibly pulled back, shaking his head to clear it. “Fuck. Fuck. C'mon, princess.” He grabbed her hand, his heart pounding loud in his ears as her fingers willingly laced with his own. “Get your ass into that elevator.”

Pinning her against one of the side walls in the elevator was a strategic move, Chris decided. It meant that if Kevin reared his ugly head, she would be protected by his body. Also she made fantastic noises as he kissed up her neck, which was a great bonus. “Fuck, Chris, p-please.” She moaned, her fingers raking down the back of his jacket.

“I've got you sweetheart, I've got you.” Jericho murmured, unable to keep from arching his back. The motion pushed their hips together and she whimpered, hands flying to his belt buckle. “Whoa whoa, easy. In the room. Owens is still around, I want you safe.” Chris caught her hands, kissing her knuckles and smiling at her. “I'm gonna' keep you safe, princess.”

She looked up at him and Chris almost lost his control. Her hair was just a tiny bit mussed, her lips kiss-swollen and slightly parted. Her tight dress had moved an inch or two up, exposing a little more skin. She looked delicious and Chris wanted to devour her right then and there, unable to keep from pressing her back against the metal wall and kissing her hard. If this was the universe's way of making Kevin's treachery up to him, he could definitely live with it.

The elevator doors opened and Jericho jerked upright, but the hallway was deserted. He still didn't breathe easy until the door to their room closed behind him. Then, oh then...

She dropped to her knees without him saying a damn thing and Jericho couldn't help the approving noise he made as she undid his belt. “That's right, princess, you know what you want. You've always known, right?” He said, unable to keep from chuckling when he noticed her blushing. “Take what you want.”

“You're not fair, you know that?” She asked, her voice a little breathy.

“You don't get far in life by being fair, princess.”

“Good to know.” She unzipped his pants and fumbled with his boxers for a second before freeing his cock. Chris's fingers wound into her hair, stroking the soft strands appreciatively. Her lips pressed to the head of his cock, kitten licks teasing the head of it while Jericho hissed in a breath. It had been a while since he'd let anyone get near his dick. “Don't stick your cock in crazy,” had served him well over the years, almost as well as his pickup lines.

“Ever been put in the Walls Of Jericho?” He asked her suddenly, watching her brow furrow in confusion. “It's a memorable experience. You'll really feel it in your lower back and stomach when I'm on top of you, princess.”

She started laughing, getting to her feet. “You're ridiculous.” She said with a smile as she wiggled his jeans off his hips.

Chris hiked her skirt up a little more, his fingers digging into the waistband of her panties. Black this time, of course, to match the dress. “May I?”

“Yes.” Her voice was just barely there, her eyes half-lidded and pupils blown with arousal. “Please, Chris.”

“Fuck, that's a good look on you.” He groaned, sliding the underwear down her legs. “This dress stays on. How do you want me, princess?” Jericho's fingers slipped over her pussy, slick coating his digits. He pressed his lips to her ear, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I already know you want my cock in you, so tell me where you want it.” Her mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“Can I ride you, please please let me ride you?” She begged finally. “Please Chris, I--“

“Shh, I know, I know.” Chris soothed, pulling his jacket off. “I'll take care of you.”

“You have no idea how surreal this is.” She admitted while he unbuttoned his shirt. “I...I used to watch you on TV when I was little.”

“Not when you got older? What, too cool for wrestling?” Chris teased.

“No, I was more confused by the feeling I got in my stomach when I watched it.” She replied nonchalantly.

Chris almost choked on the breath he sucked in, laughing incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Mm, it made it tough to watch!”

“Shit, I don't know if anyone's ever told me their 'sexual awakening' story. I'm flattered, princess.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She squeaked, putting her hands over her face.

“Ah ah, no hiding from me, princess. This is apparently a very special occasion for you.” Jericho couldn't resist teasing her a little more, sliding a single finger over the back of her shoulders as he circled her. “You've been pretty patient, I guess.”

“Patient enough to deserve a reward?” Oh no, she was on to him. Better yet, she was playing along.

Chris nodded, laying back on the bed and holding the base of his cock. “I'd say so. Come here, princess.” Without any hesitation, she climbed up on the bed beside him. Jericho smirked, feeling more than a little self-satisfied. “Think you're wet enough to take all of me?”

“Won't know until I try, right?” Shit, she was going to kill him.

Chris chuckled a little breathlessly. “Wanna' grab my wallet, princess? In the jacket.” She bent over the side of the bed and Chris bit his lip at the sight. “Good girl.” He didn't expect her to take his cock into her mouth after she tossed him his wallet, one of his hands flying to the back of her head. “Shit, princess, damn you're good at that.” He panted, loving the way she rolled her tongue.

She removed her mouth with a lewd 'pop!', looking pleased with herself. Chris was pretty sure the look she gave him was illegal. All pretty eyes and spit-slick lips, Christ.

“Get up here. Get up on my cock. Take what's yours, princess.” He ordered, fists clenching at his sides when she straddled his hips. “That's right, that's right, take what's yours.”

She leaned down to kiss him, her hand holding the base of his cock steady. Jericho groaned out when the head of his dick finally entered her, startled into opening his eyes when she twined her fingers through his own and whimpered desperately. Then, she sank slowly down onto him in one long, tender push, her eyes half-lidding again when their hips were flush. She was oddly silent through the whole thing, teeth latched onto her lower lip.

Chris rasped something along the lines of fucking Christ, clapping a hand to either side of her body and holding her still for a few seconds. “M' gonna' fucking come right off the bat if you move, if you know what's good for you don't move.” Her hips kept fucking twitching and Jericho threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard. “Fuck, princess, you--”

“I came, I came, I'm so sorry!” The words sobbed out as Chris felt her spasm on his cock, and that last little shred of self-control he had was hard-pressed to keep him from coming on the spot. “F-uck m' so sorry, so sorry--”

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” He asked through clenched teeth, dragging her down so he could press their foreheads together. “We're having sex, you're supposed to come when you're having sex. Other times too, masturbation, y'know. But shit, why are you apologizing?”

“I didn't mean to, I promise.” She said softly, sounding ashamed. “I wanted to wait until you...”

“Trust me princess, I won't let you be a one and done. Now lean back and fuck those hips down onto me.” Chris ordered, sighing when she obeyed. Her hips were quivering, her thighs a little shaky as she rose up on her knees and then sank back down. She was so fucking wet after coming, her cunt still rhythmically gripping his cock with aftershocks while she braced herself back on his thighs. Chris realized she was watching his cock push in and out of her with a dazed expression, like she still couldn't believe this was happening. Jericho wondered how many times she'd gotten off on the idea of doing something like this with him. His smirk returned in full force. “Oh princess.” He called in a singsong tone, making her eyes jerk up to his. “How long have you wanted to fuck me, huh?”

She went bright red and Jericho barely kept in a moan at how fucking cute that was. “I--”

“How many nights did you spend rubbing this little pussy raw thinking about me?” Chris hadn't gotten this filthy in years, but fuck it. “Did you think something was wrong with you when you finally came for the first time, princess? When everything went white and then sound came back and you were fucking shaking with your fingers on your too-sensitive cunt, not sure if you made noise or not?” He bucked his hips up hard, gripping her thighs tightly. She whined at his words and Chris sought her clit out with his thumb, rubbing slow circles on the sensitive area. “Did you wonder what I would feel like under your hands, in your mouth?”

“So good, Chris, oh my God-!” She panted, leaning down so she could kiss him hungrily. Jericho eagerly reciprocated, his palm landing on her ass cheek with a resounding smack! She jolted, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue stroked her own.

“Sorry, got carried away. Usually I ask first.” Chris apologized, grunting in surprise when she ground down onto him harder. “Princess likes it when I give her a little tap, huh?”

“Again, again, please Chris please.” She begged, making him fucking snarl.

“Alright, alright, what Chris's princess wants she gets.” He felt her spasm at that. “Ah fuck, you like when I call you my princess? You're mine.” Chris stated firmly.

“Mr. Jericho-!” She gasped. Her whole body went still as she seemed to realize what she'd said, and she looked at Chris nervously. “S-Sorry, I, um...”

Chris was pretty sure he'd never been this hard in his life. “You want to call me Mr. Jericho that bad, huh?” He noisily licked her slick off his thumb, making her moan softly and shift her hips. “Fucking do it then, princess, call me whatever the hell you want. Just keep fucking me, please. I can't get enough of how good you look on my dick.” He pleaded. “Your little pussy takes me so fucking good, these hips are driving me fucking crazy, please--f-ah, shit, princess-” His words choked off when she started touching herself while she rode him, Chris watching hungrily and taking mental notes as she squirmed and rolled on his cock.

“Mr. Jericho, I'm so close, p-please-”

“Good fucking thing.” Jericho managed to say, making her giggle and moan at the same time in a sound that went straight to his cock. “I'm close too, princess. What do you need?” He swallowed hard when she took one of his hands and pressed it to her cheek. She was smiling down at him like he was something fucking incredible, like she...shit, he shouldn't even be thinking that. It was just how her eyes looked, that was all. He cupped her cheek, pretty sure he was grinning like some kind of stupid idiot. He didn't really give a shit though.

“Touch me, please?” Her request was so soft, almost like she was ashamed of it. Jericho wasn't having it, he was way too hard for her to let her feel as if asking for something to get her off was greedy.

“Princess you fucking tell me to touch you. I'm already touching you, where do you want me to touch you?” The hand on her cheek slid to the back of her neck and he roughly dragged her down against him, his other hand swatting her ass again.

She shuddered, fucking mewling and arching into him, chanting,“Yes Mr. Jericho, yes Mr. Jericho,” over and over. Chris was pretty sure that was his new favorite thing to be called, latching onto her hips and driving his cock up into her hard and fast. “Fuck, yes!” She cried out suddenly, “just like that, just like that, fuck! I-!”

“You gonna' come, princess? Gonna' come again on Mr. Jericho's cock?” Chris panted in her ear, groaning long and low when she started shaking. “Fuck me, yeah you are. Come all over my dick, princess.” She kissed him, seemingly to muffle her desperate whimpering. The noises she made coupled with how her cunt was gripping him like a fucking vise was enough to shatter his aforementioned last little chunk of self-control, and Chris pinned her mercilessly to his hips as he came.

Her chest was heaving for breath and Jericho was sure he didn't look much better, unable to stifle the chuckle that he panted out at the look on her face. She was all kinds of rumpled now, her hair a mess, dress slid up to her stomach. Perfect. “Christ, princess, you're amazing.” He huffed, startled when she all but collapsed on his chest and curled up. Her body kept shuddering, little aftershocks rolling through them both in a delicious cadence. “Fucking Christ.”

“I'm so tired.” She whispered, her voice sounding like it was about to give out. “Wow. Thank you.”

“Sleep, princess. You've had a full day.” Chris urged, sitting up and easily lifting her off his cock. “Just...lay down, okay? You want a glass of water or something?”

“I was scared when he grabbed me.” She admitted hoarsely, hiding her face against his side. “I didn't know what to do.”

“Shit, that's right.” Chris had totally forgotten about Kevin. “I...let me see, come here. I should have checked before we...fuck, I'm sorry.” He apologized, examining her wrist worriedly. “I'm an idiot.”

“Well if you're an idiot I must be a stupid idiot.”

Jericho snorted, kissing her hand. “You're a scrappy idiot if you are one, shit, looked like you dislocated his jaw.” He got up from the bed, stretching and yawning loudly. When he returned with the glass of water though, she was already asleep. Chris took the moment to study her, his mouth quirking up in a smile. A real one.

He put the water on the bedside table and gently rolled her over, unzipping her dress and peeling it back off. “Shh.” He hushed her when she whimpered. “Just me. It's bedtime, princess.” She allowed herself to be tucked in, hugging the pillow tightly while Chris climbed in on his side of the bed and picked up his List. He clicked his pen absently for a few minutes, reading and rereading the names in front of him without really seeing them.

Chris finally sighed and flipped all the pages over the back of the clipboard, staring contemplatively at the dull metal of the clipboard. His pen, like it had a mind of its own, started spelling her name out on the worn surface. He traced it a few times, each pass slightly deepening the little scratches in the metal. When he wiped away the ink the impression was still there. A tiny heart beside it completed the odd addition, and he felt weirdly content with himself.

He put the List on his bedside table and slid down in the blankets. She reached out to him as he got comfortable, naked body hot against his own in the bed. Chris hummed, legitimately happy for the first time in God only knew how long. He buried his face in her hair and crooned softly, “Master of A Thousand And Four Holds, right? I guess you're the thousand and fifth because let me tell you, you've got a tight fucking grip on my heart princess.” She murmured wordlessly in her sleep, her legs tangling with his own. “Sleep good, princess.”